


then ok

by Anonymous



Series: ok motherfucker [2]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Crack, Fluff, Love, M/M, Mpreg, Smut, come @ me i dare u, now there's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:21:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: george and ringo get ANOTHER unexpected surprise in their lives..........which would be good if they weren't on tour, not mobbed by crazy fans 24/7, and john hadn't said the beatles were 'bigger than jesus'. more parenting, more fluffiness, more hardship and even more grossness ensues.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Series: ok motherfucker [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902139
Comments: 28
Kudos: 23
Collections: anonymous





	1. houseplanting

“Do we  _ have  _ to come back?” Ringo groaned into the phone. George was relaxing in the bath and Baby was sat on Ringo’s lap playing with his toy elephant. Ringo pulled at the trunk and Baby squealed in delight.

“I’m sorry Ritch, I know its your honeymoon,” Brian said sympathetically. “And it’s a really nice place.”

“Ye think? We go swimming like six times everyday!”

“Ed and I went  _ seven,” _ Brian said, but then he sighed. “I’m really, really sorry. Evening Standard called me yesterday and asked me to have you four back in the studio on the 10th. It’s important.”

“The 10th??” Ringo said. That was like two weeks away. “Ok then. I dunno if John and Paul wrote anythin new though—” 

“It’s, uh, not about the music,” Brian sighed again. “They want to do special interviews for each of you.”

“Oh sure! See ya!”

“No, Ringo, wait.”

“Don’t worry Eppeh, I’ll tell Geo. He healed up pretty good, I think he can handle that—”

_“No,_ Ringo,” Brian became deadly serious. “They want to interview you at  _ home.” _

George and Ringo’s honeymoon ended a week early. 

* * *

“Eppy said we could always say no, right?” George asked on their first night back in Whaddon House. “Plus it’s that same bird reporter from 'Murica tour, she can take it up to her boss.”

“I  _ did  _ say no,” Ringo said. He tucked Baby in with his little blanket. “Brian’s still waiting for their response.”

This didn’t comfort George. He got into bed, but didn’t shut his eyes. He laid very still with his hands over his still  _ very  _ visible breasts. Ringo ran his hands over his own hair to think of something to say. 

“They do know we share a flat.”

“That’s right.”

“It shouldn’t be _ that _ suspicious,” George continued. “They know we ain’t datin any girls…..”

Eppy had fought like mad to get the press off their backs for this one. He took them both aside in the car and told them they absolutely didn’t have to make up imaginary girlfriends to please the crowd. It was also probably for the better, seeing how the fans had mobbed Cyn and then tried to get at Jane. But now this was new. They were literally going to be looked into up close and personal. 

Ringo shuddered. They would have to take apart Baby’s nursery. The red-purple walls and chaise lounge could probably stay no problem. But the stuffed toys, the musical mobile of dancing animals, the fairy books George’s dad had bought, the crib, the changing table and the walker they had just gotten after their wedding night when Baby had stood up with his hands on the bars…..

“George?”

George looked up. His eyes were worried. Ringo suddenly felt like he couldn’t say a word. He held George after he got into bed, pressing a kiss to the side of his lips. 

“I think… I think one of us is gonna have to leave....”

Ringo teared up instantly. He heard George sniffle, but before he could do anything he felt soft lips on his and held him closer and closer until they could’ve fused into one. Then it wouldn’t be ever possible for them to leave each other. 


	2. the one highest in demand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for plot reasons, the "how does a beatle live" interviews go differently than the original lineup of john, ringo, george and paul.

Looking for a new place was surprisingly harder and so much more PAINFUL than Ringo thought. And half the pain came from being away from his husband. He skipped out on seeing the last block of flats and raced home instead, arriving right on time for dinner. George was feeding Baby on the sofa and jumped when he heard the door slam. 

“Sorry!” Ringo said, wincing at milk puddles on the floor. And George. And Baby, who just happily licked a clean circle around his little mouth. George sighed, but smiled at Ringo and kissed his cheek gratefully. 

“I thought about you all day,” he whispered, and Ringo was suddenly damn sure he couldn’t just _move_ out. He wanted and _needed_ George. Who had he been thinking about the entire day?? He could barely eat. He had browsed every house with the catalogues held tightly to his chest in the place where his son should be. He needed George and Baby like he needed air. 

But it seemed like George didn’t need him. There was a whole dinner on the table, complete with some mashed up vegetables for Baby in the high chair. George even had time to somehow pack up _all_ of the nursery into dozens of boxes that they could hide with the quilt AND run a bath for Baby. By himself. He’d never been more proud.

Ringo insisted on taking over so George could shower. He and Baby had a great time together, splashing each other. Baby stacked his rubber ducks onto his boats and crashed them all into Ringo’s hand and even laughed as Ringo put shampoo in his hair. But he did cry when Ringo removed him from the tub, kicking water all over the floor. 

George heard and poked his head through the door. “Somethin wrong?” 

“He’s just fussy,” Ringo said cooly as Baby put his mouth on his wrist. He somehow seemed…. _bigger_ than he had been last night. But he laughed his cute little baby laugh again when George picked up the hairdryer and blew a gust of air into his face with it, so all was easy again. But it aslo wasn’t! We’re only on chapter 2 ya sad bitch

George and Ringo barely waited for Baby to fall asleep in his crib before falling into bed and knocking themselves out. And then George was screaming the flat down. 

“IT’S TEN OCLOCK!!!!! _WE’RE FUCKING LATE!!!!!!!!!”_ he yelled. He threw a suit into Baby’s crib and scooped Ringo’s face to his breast. After a quick clean of the come off the bed and more showering and shoving down last night’s leftovers for breakfast, Baby was dressed in his little coat and hat and bundled into the pram and the napkin bag and nothing was forgotten.

“George?” Ringo said when they were at the studio.

“What?”

“....I don’t have undies.”

George threw the napkins at him. By the time Ringo joined the meeting they were so far up his ass he walked like he had never seen people walk. John and Paul stared at him suspiciously at the table.

“Someone had fun last night,” John remarked. He then took out a cigarette. 

“Not _here,”_ Paul said, gesturing to where George was sitting with Baby at the table. John rolled his eyes but got up and went outside. “Hi Ritchie,” he said brightly. 

“Hey Macca,” Ringo said, turning away to yawn. “Sorry.”

“Didn’t sleep well?”

“I did! I think.” Ringo looked over to where George was rocking Baby. “Where’s Eppy? I thought we was late?”

Right on cue Eppy walked through the door, ushering a tall man with a hat in. John followed in shortly. 

“Hello boys,” the man with the hat said as Eppy offered him a seat. “My name is William Ward, and I’m the head editor of the Entertainment section at _Standard.”_

“Nice to meet you, Mr Ward,” Paul said with a smile, and reached to shake hands. He shook it once but didn’t sit, staring intently at Paul’s face. 

“Ringo, is it?”

Ringo jolted. George immediately turned to attention. 

“No sir, I’m Paul!” He stepped to the side. _“That’s_ our Ringo.”

Ward dropped Paul’s hand instantly as he made his way over. Ringo gulped. His napkin pants were getting tighter. 

“Ah, Big Nose,” he said.

“Um, hi?” 

“You were the one who put through the request to not go through with your _How Does A Beatle Live_ , right?”

“Ohhh, uh, yeah.”

Ward then lowered his face to Ringo’s.

“May I ask why?”

Ringo suddenly forgot how to speak. George was looking at him worriedly, Baby clutched close to his chest. John's eyes darted from Baby to him. Eppy stood behind an unsettled-looking Paul and pursed his lips. 

"I.... I'm moving house," Ringo said. 

"Oh, to where?"

Ringo looked at Eppy again. He was mouthing 'make something up' repeatedly at him.

"...Epping."

"Ah. Alright," he said. "You haven't moved from your old flat then?"

"No, I'm still packin."

Ward then walked away, deep in thought. Ringo clung onto his seat. They'd been expecting 4 different locations, weren't they? Maybe they were going to call it off? He didn't have to move? He could give George the rest he needed as he reassembled Baby's nursery??? Please god, _please._

"And who's this cute little fella?" Ward said, having discovered George in the corner. He once again put his face close to Baby's, which George could do nothing but let him— if he turned away, he risked showing his chest. George scowled harshly and said nothing. 

Ward stared at him side-eyed. "George, is it? Is this your—"

"He's my nephew!" Paul blurted out. Everyone stared at him.

"I'm sorry?" Ward said, genuinely surprised.

"That's my nephew, uh, James." He said so confidently even John was looking at him with a grin. "Me brother dropped him off with me cause he's vacationin with his girl."

"Then why aren't _you_ holdin him?"

"Cause I'm havin a coffee!" Paul said, lifting his cup at him. "Thanks so much, Georgie!"

"Yeah, no problem," George said coldly. Ward took the hint at last and walked away. 

"So, Ringo Starr," he pulled out a notepad and pen. "When do you expect to move in?"

"Uh."

Eppy held up three fingers. 

".... three months from now?"

"April?"

"April. Late April."

"Do you mind if we do your interview last?"

Ringo's heart sank.

"You're familiar with Miss Maureen Cleave, right? From your American tour?" Ward was taking down notes. "We're sending her again, so there should be no problem?"

"Uh."

"Good, when you're done moving I'll send her right over and she can do her piece on you. You _are_ , after all, the one highest in demand. Deal?" 

FUCK. Eppy was sighing. John and Paul were biting each other's nails. Bruh.

"......wait," George spoke. "If he's going last, who's going first?"

"I'LL GO FIRST," Paul said, throwing himself in front of Ward and into Ringo's lap. "In fact, I insist!" 

"NO!" John yelled, throwing himself on top of Paul. "Lemme go first, Mr Man! I actually _have_ a wife!"

"What the fuck—" Ringo said, before they all toppled backwards with a crash. George stood right up in alarm. And then Baby started howling. 

"Oh dear, Paul, your nephew's hungry!" Mr Ward remarked. "And you most _definitely_ can go first. Cavendish, right?"

* * *

George and Ringo drove home in silence. Baby blissfully drummed his little hands on George's chest, happy to be reunited with his dad at last. George had been forced to hand him over to Paul, who carried him so awkwardly it took everything for George or Ringo NOT to leap and put their hands underneath to catch him if Paul slipped. 

"Here, let me," Ringo said when they got home, opening his arms to take Baby. George instead turned and put himself AND Baby in. Ringo felt his shoulder turn wet.

"Geo, luvie...."

"How far away even _is_ Epping?" Ringo felt Baby's hands on _both_ their chests as he babbled something. _"How long are you gonna be away from me?"_

I'm not leaving you, Ringo wants to say, but it's not true.

"I don't know," Ringo started sobbing as well. "George, I don't _want_ to."

They held each other, only pulling away when a stink started coming from Baby. Ringo sniffed as he cooked dinner and as George left to change Baby's napkin. George smiled as he made a game of aeroplanes, zooming Baby's mushed up peas around his head before landing the spoon in his mouth, but once he was asleep, he cuddled up with Ringo desperately. Ringo reached back for him.

"Ritchie, you remember yer vow?" George asked. 

"I always wanna be where you are," Ringo repeated. 

They held each other again as they slept. George kissed Ringo over and over, hands cupping his face. 


	3. the lemonade table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry this is getting more angst and less crack. who knows.

The next morning, Ringo didn’t leave the bed even though he was meant to have gone house-hunting ages ago. He didn’t want George to wake up to an empty bed. Even after he woke up Ringo held him as George kissed his hair. Ringo had a fleeting moment of silliness when Baby woke up too— it wasn’t as if he was moving away forever. He could go and buy anywhere and anything he fuckin wanted. He was a _Beatle!_ He could choose somewhere closer, maybe somewhere that was just a bus ride away, and they would just need to send the Cleave girl down there after she was done interviewing George. 

But that kept bugging him. He could very well choose to stay. A change of heart. Screw whatever imaginary flat in Epping, his home was right _here._ He _wanted_ to be here, wanted to be a husband and a father no matter how secret he had to keep it from the law. 

The law was fuckin _stupid._

Then George nudged him. He’d gotten up and already nursed Baby back to sleep. God, he’d married well. 

“Yeah?” said Ringo. 

George had his hand in the crib and the other scrunching up his own shirt. He looked downwards and pulled down the front of his shirt collar.

"D'you think we could hide these if we tried really hard?"

Ringo blinked. The last time they tried, it built up so much pressure George had fucking _lactated,_ _shot_ it out of his tits and then passed out. Now his cleavage looked even DEEPER than before. The black strap peeking out of his collar already looked like it was straining.

"Uh, wouldn't it be better if ye wore a coat?"

"In me own flat?"

“.... it _is_ January,” said Ringo. “Or a thick jumper?”

They began a search for all the jumpers in the flat. George’s black turtleneck was obviously out of the question, bunching up all around his tits and showing his midriff. Baby beat against the bars of his crib while watching his dads run around the room. 

“Ok, how bout this?” Ringo said, holding up a light brown fleece jumper he was sure Harold had left behind. It was so thick and soft that Ringo’s hand sank into it as he smoothed it out to give to George. It was also big enough to fit at least 10 Babies in, so there was no fuckin way George’s tits would show. 

Except they did. 

George sighed. He pulled at his bra, pushed down his breasts, stretched the jumper to the very ends of this thighs and TWO FUCKIN MILK ORBS were still jutting out on his chest. 

“Fuck,” said George.

“They aren’t as round,” Ringo tried. “Ye got a tighter bra?”

“They’ll just pop out from the top,” George sighed again as he walked back to bed and took the phone from the receiver. “I’m gonna call for backup.”

“What backup?” Ringo said, totally off-guard. Who on earth did they know to ask about hiding boobs??? “You’re callin yer mum?”

George gave him a weird look that turned into a chuckle. And Ringo was just happy to see his smile. It carried on until John and Paul arrived at their door in time for breakfast along with Cyn and Jules. 

“Hi Unca Georgie!” Jules said happily. “Is Baby here?”

“Baby’s with Uncle Ringo right now— oh, who’s this?”

Ringo turned. Jules was dragging his Elvis teddy bear with him. 

“I bringed him to play with Baby!” 

RINGO FELT HIS HEART GO WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO as Jules crawled up next to Baby on the sofa and started dancing Elvis on Baby’s leg. Baby squealed with utter delight. 

_“Finally,”_ John groaned. His hair was a mess and he looked like he was going to throw up. “He wouldn’t shuddup in the car.”

“John,” Cyn said gently. “Maybe you should sit down?”

“Yeah, the hell happened to ya?” George said, pulling up one of the kitchen chairs for him. John barely made it on there without his wife guiding him. He swore under his breath and then hiccuped so abruptly he startled Paul. 

_“Jesus!”_

John laughed at him.

“He, um, drank this morning,” Cyn explained. Ringo couldn’t help but notice that _her_ hair was a little less neat today, too. “I asked him to stay home, but he insisted.”

Baby then laughed. Julian was tickling his belly with Elvis’ paws. 

_“Careful,_ Jules!” Cyn called from across the room. “Don’t let Elvis kick Baby!”

“Awww, I wish I had kids,” said Paul. 

“No ya don’t,” John said bluntly. He then lurched forwards as if to puke. Paul immediately ran behind Cyn.

 _“Bitch,”_ he giggled.

“Don’t say that in front of the kids,” George sighed. “Thanks for comin over, Cynnie.”

Cyn smiled finally. “I’m happy to help.” And Ringo saw the bag on her back. “Are you ready?”

John then threw up all over his trousers. 

“Ewwww!” Jules said from where he was sitting with Baby. He covered Baby’s little eyes. 

“SHUDDUP, Juleseh!”

 _“John!”_ everyone scolded. John slumped deeper into the chair. Ringo ran to the kitchen quickly and came back out with the mop and wet towels. Cyn dropped her bag to help with the cleaning, but then looked at George. 

But oddly, she was looking at him like Louise did whenever he was ill. 

“Yeah?” he said.

“Are you—” Cyn motioned to the bag. “You sure you want to go through with this?”

George nodded right away. “Baby’s gonna start sleepin through the night soon….”

“Gosh, time flies….”

Ringo barely realised he’d stood frozen with the mop until Paul shook his shoulders. Go through with what???

“I’m ready,” said George. 

“Alright,” Cyn picked up her bag, and George ushered her into the bathroom. John protested immediately when he heard the lock.

“What’re ye doing?? That’s me fuckin wife!” 

“She’s helping him!” Paul threw the towel aside to grab John, but he fell out of the chair and stumbled to the door.

“CYN, GET BACK HERE!” John yelled, ignoring him. He banged his fist on the door. From the sofa Julian clung tightly to Elvis and Baby.

“Stop that, you’re scarin the kids!” Ringo grabbed John’s shoulders to pull him away, and he thankfully collapsed into his arms with his head thrown back. And then they realised it was because he had blacked out.

“...Daddy?” Julian said quietly.

“Don’t worry Jules, Daddy just drank too much beer,” Paul picked him up. “He’ll be good as new when he wakes up, okay?”

“When he gonna wake up?”

“Uh, hopefully when your mum's done. What’re you guys playin?” he said, trying to change the subject. 

“Why Daddy shout so much?” 

Paul frowned. He looked at Ringo for help. 

“Uhhhh, that’s jus what happens when adults drink beer,” Ringo said as gently as he could, dragging John by his armpits back onto the chair. “Sometimes they shout happily and sometimes they shout angrily.”

“I’m _never_ gonna drink when I grow up,” Jules said. “You hear that, Baby? Beer is _bad_ for you.”

Baby didn’t hear. He had his little hands outstretched for Elvis. John made a low grunt as his head hit the back of the chair and drool dripped from his mouth.

“Eww, Daddy’s yucky again!” Jules said, pointing. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll clean him,” Ringo said, grabbing a tissue from the nearby box. As he started wiping John’s lips a loud crash came from the bathroom. Then a very _wet_ sound. Three guesses.

Baby burst out crying. John’s head fell forwards. Ringo’s heart skipped a beat.

“What the fuck?” said Paul. 

“George????” Ringo called out. Only pained moans replied him. He ran to the door like a psycho and started banging HIS fists on it. “CYN?!?!?!”

* * *

George felt as if all his bones were being squeezed. ALL OF THEM.

“Oh my God, it hurts?” Cyn said from behind him. He felt her come closer. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No,” George said through his teeth. His hands travelled to his breasts, which now were squished up against his body like jellies. “I was jus surprised!”

“George, it’s not _supposed_ to hurt.”

“But it’s workin, look!”

“I’m choking you, aren’t I?”

“I’ll get used to it!” he said, even though he wasn’t sure if it was true.

“I’m not _breaking your ribs_ for the sake of an interview!” 

George turned his head. He'd never heard her sound so fierce.

"You said Victorians wear these all the time after ch—" George stopped to take in a huge breath of air. Cyn shook her head and immediately unlaced him.

"You said Victorians wear these after childbirth," he finished. _"I'm_ after childbirth."

"Victorian _women_ wore these after childbirth."

"Yeah, I _know,"_ George said irritably. The fuckin corset itself looked like the shapeliest Victorian lady to ever walk. "I can take it, okay?"

Cyn looked at the ground, the ends of two laces still in her hands. 

"Please?" 

It took a full moment before Cyn stood and turned him around by the shoulders. George curled his fists on the rim of the bathtub with a deep inhale and thought of Ringo— his beautiful eyes, his smile, him with Baby in his arms. As his chest tightened he thought of the three of them, far far away. No more flat, no more nursery. Instead there's a big house with a garden growing all around it. He and Ringo sit under one of the many trees, hands entwined, as little toddler Baby chases a butterfly overhead. Baby plays on a swing. He brings friends home from school and they drink lemonade out on a shady spot surrounded by the bushes and rolls his eyes when George or Ringo come over to check on them but stands up on his chair to snuggle them just the same—

_CRUNCH._

* * *

There's lots of light coming through the garden trees. When Baby smiles it's obvious he's inherited Ringo's wide grin. 

But he has _fangs._

No one wants to play with him because he bites. 

There's a little girl who hugs him anyway. 

Was she at the lemonade table? 

George opened his eyes and gasped when something wet and cold hit his face. So did the blobs standing over him. 

"STOP!" John's voice shouted. "He's wakin up!"

"No, make the call!" Ringo's voice shouted even louder. George tried to move his hand and smacked it right into the underside of his breast. 

"Georgie?" Ringo said. He seemed oddly near. Wasn't he out serving lemonade to Baby and his gang....

"Georgie, luvie, say somethin." Cold metal things brushed against his cheeks. "Say somethin, anything!"

George blinked. His body was wet and the air was chilly. From behind someone dropped a blanket on him, and he heard crying clear as day.

"Buh.... baby?"

"Oh thank _God,"_ Ringo said as he came into view. He cupped George's face and kissed the top of his head over and over. And George finally exhaled.

".....so do I call Brian or not??" Paul said panickedly.

"George, are you alright???" Cyn had appeared at his side. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you'd passed out until I saw your knees give way—"

"I SAID DoN'T FUCKING CALL! IT'S OKAY," John bellowed at Paul. He then threw an empty glass at him.

"DON'T FUCKING SWEAR IN FRONT OF THE KIDS!"

"Ri... Ritchie...." George said, head throbbing. "Where's Baby?" 

It was a hassle getting everyone to leave. Even after George was carrying Baby with one arm supported with a pillow and the other holding a bag of frozen peas to the bruise on his temple, Ringo still insisted they go see a doctor. Baby, upset that Jules and Elvis had left, screamed even louder to the point of not even eating. 

"The Hack's not closin for an hour," Ringo said as he rushed around their bedroom with the napkin bag. "We can get you checked out and maybe drop by Woolworth's to get Baby some new toys or somethin. D'you think that's where they stock them Elvis bears? Or would it be a fancier shop? D'you think they'll still be open after we go see the Hack?"

"Ritchie, I'm fine."

Ringo looked at him like he was about to cry.

"I really, really am."

Ringo took over holding Baby as he sat. Baby was starting to tire from his bawl, and finally started to calm when he saw his own blue eyes staring back down at him. He rocked him gently as he nestled against George's shoulder and placed a soft kiss there. George shut his eyes.

"I'm not goin out tomorrow," Ringo said firmly. "I wanna be with you."

George smiled. But Ringo didn't calm, looking at him with his sad eyes. George sighed.

"I'm not gonna wear that God-awful thing."

Ringo shut his eyes in relief. 

“I couldn’t _breathe_ in that,” George said, shaking his head. “It was like I was bein fuckin _crushed.”_

"Ye don't say..."

"Really don't understand how birds deal with this shit...."

They relaxed against each other. When Baby had stopped crying at last and reached for George with his starfish hands, he fed him. Ringo stayed close, pressing little kisses to George's neck. 

How suspicious would it _really_ be if they gave their interview together? The public already knew they lived together. John and Paul routinely told the press they all shared the bed on tour and no one had batted an eye. Ringo had once _sat_ on George during a conference and it had just been a funny picture in the papers. It was a given, they knew they were close. They knew they shared a flat.

Maybe all they had to do was to get rid of Baby.

"George?" Ringo said worriedly. George then realised the tears flowing from his eyes. 

"It's okay," he croaked out. "Go to Epping tomorrow."

Ringo looked shocked. He held him closer, put his hand in George's hair, but George fought to stay calm. "I'll be fine."

"But what about _me?"_ Ringo said, properly crying against his neck. "I need you all the time."

Baby babbled as he patted Ringo's other hand, which had curled somewhere near him. George tried to rapidly blink his tears away. 

"Ritchie, I love you," he whispered. "I love the both of you."

"Then why in God's name....."

"I saw something. Something _beautiful._ Baby grew up and we had a house with a garden."

"...........what?"

"He had a little swing and had friends over drinkin lemonade after school, but the whole place, the whole thing, it was _ours,"_ he said. Tears flowed again as he dropped the peas and held Ringo close. "There were butterflies and trees and you and I were right there under it."

Ringo blinked. "Really?"

"I swear it." George leant over and kissed his lips. "It was all ours."

The next day Ringo kissed him back and Baby as they slept before packing himself a day bag and boarding the long train ride to Epping. 


	4. oh shit

Ringo met with a real estate agent this time, a surprisingly cheery old man named Larry. He looked way too old to still be working, even more so when he shakily pulled out a notebook with a pen. 

“Honoured to be of service today,” he said. “My granddaughters are big fans of yours!”

“Wait,  _ really?” _

“Of course! Will you sign for them? Liane and Maria. Maria’s got your Fab 4 picture on her wall.”

Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad day. He signed his name twice and added extra stars. Larry took him around the blocks of available flats. He particularly liked the one with a view over a nearby lake, but just couldn’t tear himself away from something in his gut. 

“You have anything else to show me?” he asked Larry. 

“You don’t fancy anything?”

“No, well, I’m tryin to decide…” Ringo said with a smile. Why had he picked such a dreadful place? There was barely any sun even though it was high noon and there seemed to be only one long, continuous street crammed full of traffic. Were people really going to believe he lived here all alone?

“Well, there _ is  _ one more property,” Larry said as he checked his clipboard. “But you  _ did _ specify you were on a budget.”

Ringo blinked. “It’s expensive?”

“The biggest bomb we have.”

Ringo insisted Larry show him. They took his car and drove for a shorter time than Ringo thought, and the only thing he knew was that they were driving a good mile away from the Epping train station. But then he saw the house. 

It was a shed compared to Paul’s Cavendish and was nowhere near as grand as John’s Kenwood, but it was cool. A great big mass of forest surrounded most of its behind, though there was only concrete at the front. It was also the only place with a garage. 

“I’ll take it.”

“Already?” Larry said in even greater surprise. 

“It’s  _ perfect,” _ Ringo said, very well aware he sounded like an eccentric millionaire. Maybe he was. He shook Larry’s hand. “Thank you so much.”

The paperwork then took ages. Ringo offered to buy Larry dinner, but he just smiled and said his wife was cooking. He then invited  _ Ringo  _ to dinner.

“I dunno, what’re ya havin?”

“Maybe a porridge,” Larry said. “With beans. The wife buys fresh stuff at this special place near where we’ve got our flat in Knightsbridge—”

Ringo joined Larry’s table, eagerly awaiting food and then the short ride back to his _real_ home. Larry’s wife, a smiling plump woman named Sarah, served a scrumptious meal with WHISKEYYYYYYYYY and smiled at him with bright eyes, but all Ringo could think about was running home after this was all over. He thanked Larry again and again at the door.

“Thank you for the business!” Larry said. “You need a ride?”

“It’s a ten minute walk!” Ringo said. He dashed down the stairs and through the main building. And then he was practically charging his way through the streets and swinging past the lamp posts.  It was a little after nine, which meant George and Baby would’ve eaten and George would’ve already put Baby to bed. Which meant he would have his dear husband all to himself. Which meant hot sex. 

Or cuddling. 

Ringo smiled wider at the thought of that.  But when he opened the door to their flat, George wasn’t alone. 

_ “Paul????” _

_ “Ritchie????”  _

Paul and George said at the same time as they turned around. Ringo’s jaw dropped to the floor. George’s toga was gone, replaced with his old joggers and a white shift-gown thing that went past his knees and showed a generous amount of cleavage. Paul had a bundle of blankets in his arms, from which stuck out two big ears. 

“Why the _ hell  _ are ye holdin my Baby?” 

An awkward silence filled the flat. Paul and George looked at each other like they’d been caught red-handed. It didn’t help that Baby was wrapped in the crimson Mickey Mouse sheets that Harry and his mum had sent over specially. 

“Geo thought I should get some practice,” Paul said quickly and sheepishly. He awkwardly returned Baby to George’s arms and got an awkward longass look at the rounded tops of George’s tits as he lowered himself to get a better grip. “Y’know, since I babbed he was me nephew....”

“Excuse me?” Ringo put his hands on his hips. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Remember what he told that  _ Standard _ fella so he’d get off me back?” George said, turning pink. 

Oh fuck,  _ what??????? _

“We’re giving Baby away?” said Ringo. “To  **_him???”_ **

Paul gave a huff. 

“Sorry Macca, but you’re literally the only one who  _ ain’t _ a dad.” He turned to George. “I thought we were gonna give him to  _ your  _ parents! Or mine!”

“Well if it means anythin to you, I’m his  _ godparent,” _ Paul said indignantly. “They’re... gonna be expecting to see Baby with me.”

Ringo thought of Paul bouncing Baby in his arms in front of the Cleave girl. Pictures of him tickling Baby’s pointy chin appearing in the paper.  _ Paul is the Uncle of Our Dreams!  _ the headline read. _McCartney_ _ pictured with his baby nephew James. _ Ringo felt like he had been slapped in the nose.

“Ritchie,” George said, pulling him back into the present. “It’s only for a day.”

“Right, that interview gonna last a day too?”

_ “Well,” _ Paul said infuriatingly, “They gotta change what comes out in the paper everyday y’know—”

“I wasn’t fuckin talkin to you!”

Paul and George looked at him speechlessly. A look of hurt flashed in Paul’s face. Ringo felt guilty then; what the fuck was he doing yelling at his  _ friend??  _ He didn’t know exactly why his hands were shaking, but he didn’t know how to stop them. All he could think about was Paul gleefully answering the Cleave girl as Baby crawled out of wherever he was, out the door, or into a road— down the stairs— pulling on a tablecloth and getting a faceful of glass vase—

“Ritchie, listen to me….” Paul said, catching sight of Ringo’s wobbly fists. “I know you’re mad I lied to Ward bout Baby, but if I hadn’t….” he looked at George with his lips pursed. And his gaze travelled down.

“Stop starin at me husband’s tits, you randy  _ bitch!” _

Paul looked shocked. “I wasn’t!” 

_ “Richard.” _ George said dangerously. “You’re bein unreasonable.”

_ “I’m  _ being unreasonable??? Well I’m  _ sorry _ I don’t like random people holdin our son!”

_ “Random people???” _ Paul said, offended at last. “For fuck’s sake, I’m his godfa— I’m your friend! Your bandmate! Your  _ MATE!  _ George, tell him!”

George opened his mouth, but Ringo didn’t know what the fuck had come over him. “I know, Macca! But you’re a  _ randy _ son of a bitch.”

“Stop calling me that, I’m engaged to Jane!”

“Oh really?? Tell her I say hi then, or don’t! Since she’s always so  _ busy _ workin’ on her movie—”

_ “Ye don’t like randoms holdin yer son????” _ Paul shot back. “That wasn’t what ye said when ye tried to go to John’s birthday party, _ now was it?—” _

**_“OH MY FUCKING GOD, SHUT UP!”_ ** George yelled. Paul and Ringo stared at him in shock. Baby’s blue eyes flew open and he burst into a cry. George bundled Baby closer to him as he edged away from the both of them.

“Oh  _ great, _ look what you’ve both done!” 

“What??? I didn’t do nuthin!” Paul protested.  _ “You _ shouted last!”

“YOU SHOUTED FIRST!”

“NO I DIDN’T, IT WAS _ RITCHIE!”  _

_“I WOULDN’T HAVE SHOUTED IF YE WEREN’T BEIN A FUCKIN SMARTASS!”_ Ringo shouted, but he was already regretting it halfway. Oh god, what the hell had he done???

Paul glanced at Baby once more before he made for the door. 

“Macca!” George called, frantically gathering all of Baby’s blankets as he rushed after Paul. The door closed on his foot and made him yelp. Ringo turned anxiously, but George had already thrown it off and disappeared behind it, leaving Ringo in the living room. 

_ “Fuck.” _

George came back when he was good and ready, not making a sound as he walked to their bedroom. Baby was peacefully asleep, and Ringo watched as George lay him carefully in his crib. Then he got into bed without a word and pulled the blankets over his head. 

Ringo waited a few moments, thinking hard of something to say. God, he could’ve done so much better. He could’ve made it into a joke and helped Paul do it right. If he had to make enemies of TWO of his friends/bandmates why did they have to be his own husband  _ and _ good old Macca? Not that he’d rather have John hate him, but he  _ should’ve _ fuckin handled it better. 

“George?” he whispered.

George ignored him. 

“Luvie?”

George ignored him even harder. Ringo shuffled the teensiest bit closer. 

“Georgie?…”

George remained silent. His blankets adjusted and one large ear poked out from it. Ringo shuffled even closer. 

“I found a house today. It’s not much, but… there’s lots of trees.”

The air was still. Maybe George was already asleep even, but Ringo pressed a kiss to the blanket. “I think you’d like it. Maybe you wanna come see it and all…. I’m sorry. I love ye so much. I… I had a few drinks.”

George remained silent even harder. It was so quiet Ringo could hear breathing. 

“Sorry, ye don’t wanna hear all that while you’re… you’re resting,” he said. “Goodnight, love.”

Ringo then adjusted his own blanket, but suddenly he was warm. Blankets were torn off as George wrapped around him, hands in his hair. 

“I love you too,” he said, and Ringo’s breath stopped because it sounded like George had been crying. And because his face was smushed in George’s tits. 

“I didn’t know what the fuck got ye into that state, I just…” George sighed. “I missed you. I know you’re here, but ye also _ aren’t _ . My heart hurts when you’re not around. I just wanna hold ye all the time…”

Ringo regained his breath, and lost it yet again. He hugged George tight and pressed kisses to every bit of him. When Baby woke the next morning the three of them stayed in bed together, warm below the storm that broke its way into their sky. 

“You don’t need to go out today?” George asked when Baby started grizzling against his bosom. 

“I already found the house, remember?”

“Oh, right,” George smiled at last. “Sorry.”

“You’ve got nothin to be sorry for,” Ringo kissed him gently. “D’you wanna come see it?”

Ringo hadn’t expected George to clamber out of bed when Baby was done feeding and start getting dressed, but he went with it. They drove to Epping in a noisy heap from the rain and Baby wailing because he didn’t like the cold and dark. He finally calmed when George dug out Mickey Mouse from the napkin bag, but threw him on the car floor when lightning started flashing across the sky. 

Thankfully they had made it. Ringo had no means of parking in the garage, but since Larry had removed the For Sale signpost in front of it yesterday, he parked on the concrete and ran for shelter under the porch with George. 

“You weren’t kiddin bout the trees,” he breathed with excitement. He got the gleam in his eyes that Ringo could spend hours staring into. Ringo unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal the hall. 

“I’m gonna have to have the quickest renovation possible,” Ringo said as he took over holding Baby. George spread his arms wide as he walked to the centre of the room. “You like it?”

“Hard to say, it’s pretty empty,” George looked up into the second floor above. “But I think it’ll grow.”

Ringo smiled. When he looked down, Baby was blinking at him. Had his eyes always been so bright? Had _ Ringo’s _ eyes always been so bright? He turned to look at George and saw him T-posing with his eyes shut in the white light of the big main window. 

* * *

That night, Ringo invited Paul over for dinner. Twice. Paul had slammed the phone down when he picked it up and realised it was him. He and George hung a banner that had  _ BEST UNCLE _ painted over  _ Happy Retirement!  _ over the door and mashed so many potatoes that they ran out. 

Thankfully Paul was ravenous. And already a little drunk.

“Macca, I’m so sorry I yelled at ya,” Ringo said as he added more whiskey to Paul’s plate of potato. “I freaked out on you for no reason.”

“Thas fine Ringo,” Paul chuckled. “But to be fair…. it really was me own fault ye can’t see Babeh.”

Baby, all cute in his high chair, kept pulling at his purple bib. He smushed it up against his face.

“No Baby, dirty!” Ringo leant out to wipe him, but leant so far he fell off. Paul and Baby started laughing. George scurried over to help him up, but tripped over his toga. 

“Oh shit, don’t break ur necks,” Paul stumbled out and pulled George to his feet. Ringo clambered back up in his chair. “Now as I was sayin—”

“No Paulie, this is about…” Ringo stopped when he saw George looking at him. “....go on.”

“I. Liedddd.” Paul pointed at himself. “I’m sorreh.”

“It’s alright, you were tryin to help,” George said, though now he seemed doubtful of his own words.

“No, this one’s new.” Paul swallowed the whole spoon. “Yer gonna have to come over and set up Babeh’s nursery in me room.”

George and Ringo looked at each other. OH FUCK

“It’s cool, its cool,” Paul said, winking at Baby. “I cleared out a spare room ages ago but I didn’t know how to break it ta ya. Besides, how much work can it be?”

Paul woke up the next day to a persistent ringing of his doorbell. He then opened the door to a very tired George and Ringo and Baby Harrison-Starkey and a whole CAR full of boxes. 

“Uhhhhhhhhh, hi?” 

“You were sayin somethin bout a nursery?” said Ringo.

“Oh, yeah,” Paul said, and breathed a sigh that was both of relief and sleepiness. “How the hell are ye both up this early?”

“We didn’t sleep,” George said like Paul was stupid. “Ye know how to change a nappy?”

“What?”

“Poobag. Napkin. Dipper.”

“Uhm, I think its _diaper—”_

“Shh, I’m the dad,” George said with an evil smile. “Baby’s ate nuthin but mash.”

Paul then spent a very shitty day. He was up to his arms in shit. George was, too, but he was the one changing Baby’s napkin every 10 seconds. In 9 seconds. And he was expecting Paul to do it in  _ 8. _

“Remind me again why I gotta do it like Formula One.”

“What if you gotta change it in front of the Cleave girl?”

“Who?”

“The reporter, dumbass.”

“Why the hell can’t I bring Baby in here, and then change him??”

“Knowin those snoops, the whole interview’s probably gonna  _ be _ in here,” George said with a disgusted scoff. “Fuckin pervs.”

“But he’s a _Baby!_ Surely they’re not like that.”

Paul started laughing nervously. George looked at him even more seriously. 

“....at least not the Cleave girl?”

“Just do the damn diaper.”

Needless to say, Paul was a shit-covered wreck when Cleave showed up for the interview. 

“My goodness Paul, are you alright?”

“OH, I’M DOING GREAT!” Paul said very calmly. “Jus lemme slip into somethin nicer?”

“Certainly.”

John, George and Ringo poked their heads out from where they were hiding in the bushes. 

“I still don’t get why I gotta be here,” John said impatiently. 

“In case we get spotted, you’re our getaway driver,” said Ringo. 

“What????? You two are  _ perfectly _ capable of getaway drivin!”

“Not  _ me!” _ George huffed. “I can’t wear a seatbelt!”

“The hell’s that gotta do with anything?? And WHY????”

George motioned to his very large chest. Ringo suppressed a laugh.

“At least ye don’t have ta worry if yer airbag don’t work.”

“Fuck off, John.”

“Gladly!” John tried wriggling himself free. “Yer tits are takin up all the room!”

A while later, John gave up at last and went to sit in his car. George and Ringo remained side by side in the bush, peering into the living room. George had never been more glad to be wrong that the interview would be in the makeshift nursery, but couldn't revel in it because Baby was looking so lost and _sad_ from where he sat on Paul's lap. And because Baby had Ringo's blue eyes, he looked EVEN MORE SAD with _his_ Baby blue eyes. It was maybe ten minutes of it before George sobbed into his toga. 

"Oh luvie, it's alright," Ringo said when he heard. "Our Baby's safe. Macca's doin' so well."

And how grateful he was for that, but he didn't want to see Baby so upset. What if he started crying and didn't stop? It could very well happen. He and Ringo had made sure Baby wasn't afraid of Paul when he picked him up and rocked him and fed him from a bottle, but what if he started crying because he _knew_ Paul wasn't either of his dads?? And was wondering where they went???? What if he wanted George?? What if he wanted to look into Ringo's eyes????? What the hell would the Cleave girl write about Paul if Baby started bawling and didn't stop??? WHAT IF HE THOUGHT THEY HAD ABANDONED HIM??????????????

Ringo forced himself to look away. George crammed himself deeper into the bushes and tried to meditate. But it was hard. So were his boobs. The front of his toga was steadily swelling with undrunken milk. It took ages before Paul and Cleave and Baby left to another room. George and Ringo broke out of the bushes and ran to the car. Ringo hopped through the driver's window and practically ripped the diaper bag apart. 

"What the fuck?" yelled John. 

Ringo tossed the breast pump at George and kicked a blanket to the window facing Cavendish. George then undid his toga and both of his bras. 

_"Damn,_ son," said John. He tossed his cigarette out the window. "This a farm now?"

"Fuckoff, don't look," George gasped as he finally emptied the heavy liquid into the bottles. "Please."

John shrugged and turned to light another cigarette at the window as Ringo quickly dug for more bottles in the bag and slotted them below the pump as quick as he could. Every so often George noticed John sneaking a peek at his tits, but at least he wasn't making a fuss. Or that he was blind as hell.

"I hoped you packed a lunch," John said when he noticed George had his toga back on. "Cynnie made me a portable roast! Wouldja lookit that!"

John opened a lunchbox with wrapped pieces of chicken inside. George turned away at it. Ringo removed the blanket and the living room was still empty. Years and years seemed to pass in John's car, from the smells of birth to John chomping his wife's food. Ringo held George's hand so tightly their rings dug into each other. John took off his shoes and laid across the two front seats for a nap, Ringo following suit, and then George, though he fought and fought staring at the whole Cavendish house. He knew he did. Because when he opened his eyes, the sky was dark.

And John was yelling. The Citroen in the driveway was driving away. 

Ringo practically kicked the door down. Though Paul looked tired, he was holding a very peaceful Baby in his arms. His eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of another pair of blue eyes, and squealed happily when he was handed over. 

"Oh sweet Babyyyyyy, I missed youuuuuu!!!" Ringo cried. He kissed Baby's nose and hair as tears ran down his face. George took this all in as he stood at the doorway, wiping his own eyes. Paul walked up to him with a smile. They fist bumped. 

"Knew you'd be terrific," said George. 

"Baby's the terrific one," Paul looked to where Ringo was holding him. Even John was enjoying the happy scene, grinning as he leaned on Paul's carved phone table. "He didn't even cry! He was _perfect."_

George rolled his eyes. 

"Ok, he _did_ try to suck me tits."

George burst into a proper laugh. 

"The Cleave girl said it must be because I look like a bird, _supposedly."_

"You mean you _don't?_ " John chortled.

"Hah hah hah, Lenny."

"Oh Baby, what's wrong??" Ringo said suddenly. Baby had stopped looking so peaceful. His arms flailed and his little mouth looked puffed.

"Is Baby alright???" George stepped into the house. Ringo pulled Baby’s napkin down just a little bit to check if he had made a mess, but then a loud, foul sound erupted from his tiny arse. Then there was a whole ass brown WATERFALL raining out of it and onto Paul’s Persian carpet.

The Beatles stared at the shit hitting the floor in shock. Baby shut his eyes tight and squirmed from where Ringo was holding him up, but continued shitting on his godfather’s carpet. He shat so hard and long the carpet's design was buried under a mountain of shit. The shit splattered all over the carpet and on the tile floor, some watery shit and some hard shit. 

And then he stopped. But not before taking one final poop on top of Ringo’s feet. 

Everyone was silent. 

Baby then farted. 

“.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................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oh shit,” said Ringo.

Paul gagged. He clapped his hand over his mouth and ran for the toilet. George was still frozen in the doorway with the napkin bag slung over his shoulder. John started laughing hysterically.


	5. NO DON'T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for plot reasons, reactions to john's "bigger than jesus" don't follow the timeline they did in real life.
> 
> also, PLEASE DO NOT BIND WITH DUCT TAPE. it is extremely harmful to your skin.

The next day Paul had to have his poor carpet professionally cleaned. George and Ringo took Baby to the Hack to check if his shit waterfall meant he was sick. Ringo had also brought a poo sample he collected off his feet. 

“You’ll be glad to know he’s ok now,” The Hack said as Baby pulled him down by his stethoscope. “But _please_ don’t feed him any more mashed potatoes.”

“But Baby _likes_ potatoes,” said George. 

“Well d’you _like_ him shitting all over you?” 

When they got home George threw all their new potatoes out the window. Baby cried bitterly when he was served an aeroplane spoon of mushed up broccoli for dinner. He turned his head away stubbornly and refused to even look at George, not even if he pulled funny faces or sang for him.

“C’mon love, these make you big and strong,” George brought the spoon to Baby’s cheek, but Baby turned his head further away and swatted him. Ringo then stood up.

“Here, let me. C’mon Baby, if ya eat all this up, I’ll…. uhm…….”

“Don’t bribe him to eat his vegetables!” George scolded. But Ringo had already said: “I’ll buy you yer own ring!”

“He won’t even know what that is!”

“Then we could teach him!”

“He’s _six months old!_ What if he tries to _eat_ it??”

“Then I’ll get one he can’t eat!”

But this was ultimately useless. Baby smacked the spoon out of Ringo’s hand and howled in his face. George and Ringo stared at him in hopelessness before George let out a howl of his own. It was so loud Ringo jumped and Baby howled even louder. 

“....luvie?”

“FINE,” George shouted at Baby. “BE A FUCKING INGRATE THEN!”

_“Geo!”_

But George simply stormed off to their bedroom, slamming the door hard and leaving Ringo with their crying child at the dining table. Baby hardly even realised his dad was gone, his little eyes screwed up as he hammered his high chair’s tray with his fists. 

Ringo stood stunned in front of Baby, feeling shaky. He hardly knew what he was doing when he lifted Baby out of his seat. He automatically made his way to the nursery, and facepalmed when he saw the empty red-purple room. He half thought about singing to Baby to get him to quieten, but then Baby clung to his shirt and buried his little head in it. Baby was now calming, only sniffling against his chest. He looked up at him with eyes so blue Ringo could see his _own_ blue eyes, blinking rapidly. He sank down against the door as he rubbed Baby’s back. 

“Dada didn’t mean that,” Ringo said, knowing there was probably no way Baby understood a damn thing he said. “It’s okay…”

Baby continued to gurgle, still sniffling. Ringo felt a thump of little hands against his chest as Baby grabbed at him. Oh god, now he was hungry. He chugged down his stolen lactase pills from the Hack and knocked on their bedroom door. 

“George?” Ringo said before he thought hard. _Baby’s hungry? Baby needs you? Please don’t kill us?_

“You there?—” he said, trying the door handle and then yelping as it opened and he nearly fell flat on his nose. 

“Baby???” George cried. 

Baby, still crying lightly, looked up to where his dad had called his name. _He recognised the sound of his own name!!!_ If Ringo weren’t ready to collapse from the near fall he would’ve been super overjoyed. George shot out of bed in the darkness and took their son right into his arms.

“Oh Baby, I’m so sorry,” George said, kissing Baby’s cute face desperately. “I’m sorry I yelled, I love you so much—”

Then he let out a gasp. Ringo, heart still in his throat, fumbled for a light switch. Baby had also recognised the plump mounds that fed him and was now SQUEEZING them with his innocent starfish hands. 

“Baby! Don’t!” Ringo said helplessly. George pulled Baby closer so he couldn’t grab his nipples, but his legs were already shaking. He put his hands under Baby’s tiny bum in case George’s arms gave way, but instead he fell back onto their bed with something that sounded like… like…. like……….

Laughter. 

George was now crying with laughter. Baby was too, his nose smushed into the valley of George’s cleavage. Ringo sighed in relief.

“You really _do_ love me, don’t you?” George cooed, pressing a long and tender kiss to Baby’s hair. “I love you too. Don’t forget that.”

Ringo smiled. What could be more perfect than his two special boys? That night George gave Ringo plenty of kisses, but held Baby on his chest as he slept. Ringo rolled over and relished in their gentle breathing, Baby’s tiny hands flat on George’s collarbones. He moved over and kissed them both again, drifting to sleep and only thinking of them. 

So Eppy then had a bloody awful time pulling him away on the morning of George’s interview. Even though Paul and Cyn had showed up for support; Cyn with a bag of suitable clothes for George, Ringo clung to their bedroom doorframe for dear life. 

“Just five more minutes!” he begged. 

“You’ve had _half an hour!”_

“He’s my _husband,_ Eppy!” 

“And I’m very happy for you both, but Miss Cleave’s arriving any minute now!” He tried with no avail to pry Ringo off the wall and fell back with a sweaty face. “Paul! Gimme a hand!”

“I can’t!” Paul yelled. “I’m holdin the Baby!”

“PUT THE BABY DOWN THEN!”

“NO DON’T,” Ringo shouted, but it was too late. Paul knelt and sat Baby on the floor. 

“DON’T FUCKING LET GO HE’S GONNA BUMP HIS HEAD!” Ringo shot off the wall and dove to catch Baby and smashed right into the sofa instead. But Baby blinked at him from where he sat, his nappy squashed under him like a bean bag. 

“Oh my god,” said Ringo. George then burst from the room with his tits out. 

“Uhm,” said Paul. 

“Jesus Christ,” said John, who crawled out of Paul’s arse. 

_“Baby!”_ George said excitedly, not caring that breastmilk was dripping all over his pants, “You smart little thing!”

Baby squealed in excitement AND CLAPPED HIS CUTE LITTLE HANDS. He was so cute that Eppy completely forgot why he was mad. He allowed Ringo his five minutes with George, but gave him the death stare that meant IT WAS ONLY FIVE MINUTES BITCH. It didn’t help that he also made George get dressed before Ringo was allowed in, but Ringo didn’t care. He just wanted to tell his husband he loved him.

“I love you,” he said, holding George’s hands. “I’m comin back tonight.”

“You are?” George gripped his hands tighter, but then loosened. “It’s a long way, isn’t it?”

“No way’s too long fer you.”

George tried not to cry, but did anyway as he scooped Ringo into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder. His hormones were beyond fucked up; Ringo and Baby were coming home in a couple hours and he was bawling like they were leaving him.

He pulled himself upright. At least he had them. He had to get it together. The Cleave girl was arriving and his tits were still out. He pulled away first and regretted it because everything turned cold. 

“Oh God, I thought it’d be a bad idea…” Eppy said when George and Ringo both emerged with red eyes and sniffly noses. “Ritchie, you and Baby better leave with Paul. Cynthia, you ready?” 

“Ready,” Cyn nodded, her bag at her side. But then John stepped up right next to her. 

“Actually, it’s Cyn _and_ John,” he said proudly. And unfurled a roll of duct tape from his trousers. 

George screwed his eyes shut as John wound the heavy grey tape around him. _Why was there so much of it??_ And Good Lord, it was sticky. John unstuck him whenever the tape was uneven and it felt as though his skin came off. 

“John, be _careful,”_ Cyn said quietly. 

“I _am!_ Aren’t I Georgie?”

George made sure to scream his lungs out the next time John unstuck him. When Miss Maureen Cleave arrived at Whaddon House at last, she was greeted by the man who’d lived there the day before he’d sicked up his choclate-eggplant ice-cream. She smiled at him politely and shook his hand, her eyes thankfully never leaving his face and noticing the rest of him.

“You have a lovely flat,” she said, eyeing the sparse and entirely too clean rooms which most definitely _didn’t_ house a husband and a Baby the year before. 

George bit his lips. So much had happened in this flat, and the world would never know. How could they? What was he supposed to say when she started asking him about his life and what he’d been doing for their whole year off? Eppy had talked him through all of his expected answers, but most of all remained on _his_ side. He was fuckin entitled to his own privacy. He could make it up and Miss Cleave couldn’t question him if it were all coming out from his own mouth. Journalists were meant to report the truth and define what it was people should believe.

But who on earth would believe him if he claimed he’d had a Baby with Ringo Starr? 

“...George?” she said. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry,” George gestured her to take a seat. “Got a lot on me mind…”

“Care to share it with me?” She produced a notepad and a tape recorder, which she clicked and set on the coffee table. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m really quite surprised. This is quite humble compared to Paul’s lodgings, isn’t it?”

“I don’t mind. It’s… it’s just me anyway,” he chuckled. He adjusted his bloody duct tape bra and all the jumpers he wore underneath moved with it. Oh God, please don’t let this take all day—

“I understand you used to rent this place with Ringo?”

George shot to attention. “Oh, um, yes.”

“What was he like as a flatmate?”

Ringo smiled at him in his mind, blue eyes shining. 

“Oh, you know, the best. We danced in the kitchen and stuff.”

“That sounds almost romantic, that,” she said, but then her eyes widened as she looked up from her pad. “Oh, not that I’m insinuating, of course—”

“None taken, none taken.”

“Ringo’s the Beatle in highest demand, especially in America! Maybe even too high in demand. Would you say you’re jealous of the attention he’s getting compared to you?”

“Of course not, I love him.”

Miss Cleave’s pencil stopped scratching. George’s heart froze in his throat, but then she only turned it around to use the eraser. She even giggled.

“Very sporting of you to say! Ringo’s a lucky lad. Now back to you: where do you keep your guitars? Mind showing me?”

She doesn’t ask a single thing about Ringo after that. For that George was glad, and with every question asked the interview ended faster. When she inevitably asked about his life (and raised her eyebrows ever so slightly as she asked if there was a special lady in it), he dodged it right on purpose. She graciously carried on, thankfully looking right at her notes instead of him whenever his fuckin outfit needed moving.

His duct tape bra became awfully tight by tea time, but Cleave sat at his table with her writing pad and no intention to leave. George picked at the tape on his ribs, rationing to himself why he shouldn’t just rip it right off: no one was here to help him stick it back on, and his swollen tits would flop right against his wall of jumpers. And if he started _leaking,_ that would be a whole other problem on its own. 

He tried not to think about poor Baby. He wondered how he and Ringo were doing in that bare Epping house, just the two of them and a couple of his toys and only so much milk. 

Baby _knew_ who he was, right? 

He wasn’t just a pair of tits he knew to grab whenever he got hungry? And surely he’d rooted Paul that time because he mistook him for George?

If George somehow died before Baby grew up Ringo wouldn’t lie to him about how he was born, would he?

George suddenly felt plagued. Now more than ever since the pregnancy, he was a slave to his own body. The whole order of things had changed because of his fucking tits. His entire life felt like it had suddenly derailed and bounced onto another track.

He had to get the fucking tape _off._

“Thank you for the tea!” Cleave suddenly stood up. “You make a mean cup.”

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome.”

“It’s been lovely seeing you again,” she said. OH GOOD SWEET LORD SHE WAS LEAVING ALREADY. “You look well, have I told you? Like you’ve been eating good.”

“Thank you.”

George reached for their coats on the rack near the door, but Cleave got there first.

“Oh no, you don’t need to walk me! I’ll just be quick. You seem tired.” God bless this girl. “I’m only parked out front anyway.”

George couldn’t remember if he thanked her. Maybe he even slammed the door right as she slipped on her shoes at the step. All he knew was that he ran to the bedroom, stripping as he did, and leapt onto the bed as he ripped the tape from his breasts, finally breathing loud in relief. And then he came all over the sheets. 

* * *

On the bright side, he had the whole place to himself. He could lie in bed with his tits out and not worry about anyone intruding. But he couldn’t lie comfortably. The flat he’d liked was long gone. Everything had been moved to make it seem like Ringo had meant what he’d said and moved to Epping ages ago.

George fought not to think such things. Ringo would never do that to him. Ringo had stayed with him through the last impossible year and searched high and low for his engagement ring when George thought he’d lost it. 

He looked at it now on his hand, along with the new silver one. He smiled for a bit, and ended up in a better mood than he would’ve ever thought with no one else being around. In two and a half hours he managed to take a nap _and_ watch a whole episode of _Doctor Who_ on the telly without anything interrupting him. 

And when he got enough energy back, he stood up to have a bath. He towelled off and made to grab his plain old bra before being struck with a glorious idea. 

Nervously, he slipped on the secret black set of lingerie from the back of the closet. It was silkier and a hell lot _smaller_ than he remembered when his tits popped right out of the bra. He shoved them back in and then had too big of a hard-on to put on the knickers just yet. He clasped the collar around his neck instead, and tried not to think of Ringo’s face when he came back to _this_ cooking dinner at their stove. Was he a fucking genius or what??

An hour ticked by. And another. George’s mind went places. He cooked up some vegetables to go with the pasta he made, and another hour went by. He briefly wondered to call the Epping house, but then there was no landline to pick up over there. He pulled at the knickers and adjusted the X straps over his cleavage for the dozenth time when the door finally opened. 

George dashed to the kitchen table and bent himself over it. His hair landed right in his eyes and he shook it off to the side. Only to come face to face with Ringo, Baby AND Paul, who dropped Baby’s napkin bag to the floor with a thud.

“....shit,” said George.

“Oh,” said Paul, looking away immediately. “Ok, I’ll leave now.”

“Thanks fer the ride Macca,” Ringo said quickly. Because Baby was asleep in his arms, he kicked the diaper bag in as Paul took off without a second look. George pretended to be busy adjusting his collar (which he was rather now regretting) as Ringo propped Baby securely against the sofa cushions. 

“Is he okay?” George said as calmly as he could with one of his bra cups threatening to slide down. “How was it?”

“I’m the one who should be askin that,” Ringo answered. He took in George’s outfit as he walked over. “Uh… how’re you? How’d it go?”

“It... went alright…” George was properly embarrassed now. He willed for cover of some sort to hide his body and all the ways it’d changed since he shat Baby out, but all he could do was put his hand on his underboob and the other hand smack in the pasta. 

“Aww, you cooked!” Ringo said like he didn’t notice that it was now a mess. “Should I wake Baby?”

“Is he hungry?”

“I guess so… he drank all the milk ye gave us…” Ringo’s hands hung in midair for a bit before he settled them at his sides. “But he’s been asleep hours now. Ain’t that real good? We’ve got time to eat together now! I missed you,” Ringo said with a smile, and a hot feeling pierced George’s eyes like spikes. Ringo noticed quickly and took his face into his hands. 

“Oh, luvie, what’s wrong?”

“I…….”

“What is it?”

“Oh _Lord,_ I’m sorry.” 

“....what for??”

“I jus ruined our dinner,” he managed to choke out before the tears poured from his eyes. If there was anything worse than crying, it was crying while you were practically naked with tonight’s dinner smeared right up your arm, and when your Baby being inches away from being woken up because of your crying. He wouldn’t give Baby up for the world, but having his hormones _not_ get fucked up and his old body back was never asking for too much.

But Ringo, his Ringo, was undeterred. He pressed his thumbs under George’s eyes and wiped, shaking his head. 

“Geo, no,” he said, soft as the kiss he gave him almost immediately. “I don’t mind! Not when it’s you. And yer—“ he leaned to one side to check— “pasta smells amazin!”

“You don’t have ta say that.”

“But it’s true,” Ringo pressed his lips to George’s neck gently. “And so do you.”

The night was a lovely blur. Baby stayed asleep, pooped out from being away all day and according to Ringo, all the milk he drank. Ringo positively devoured his dinner, his eyes transfixed right on George. Particularly the X marks the spot on his cleavage. George should've been ecstatic— but he just couldn't. Because every time Ringo stole a look he would look away afterwards with something like a _guilty_ expression on his face. His eyes turned sad. He looked as if _he_ were about to cry.

George wanted to be reading too much into it. That had to be it, wasn't it? His hormones were sure taking the blame for everything he was freaking out about. He hadn't meant to scream at Baby over potatoes or bawl like one when Ringo left the house. He couldn't help it. 

Most of it. 

When dinner was done and Baby was laid safely in his crib, Ringo turned him around. George half-expected a kiss. 

"Can we talk?" Ringo said instead.

"About what?"

"I just really need you to know..." Ringo trailed off then, pulling their bed covers open and motioning for him to get in. George breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't be as naked as he was in their bed or worry about people seeing him. And then he thought of Paul and practically dove right in next to Ringo.... who took his hand, and stared at it for a full minute. His rings shone in the light from the bedside lamp.

"Ritchie?" 

"I love you." Ringo whispered. He patted his hand with his, layer after layer of jewels. "You know that, right?"

"I know," George replied. "I love you too."

Ringo was silent then, still staring at their rings. George proudly noticed the red glint on Ringo's finger. Maybe he _really_ had nothing to worry about—

"No, I really do," said Ringo. "And I've been thinking about it all the time and I feel like shit about it all, cause..."

"Darling, no," George's hand tightened on his as Ringo started to sob. He wiped his eyes, but kept looking right at him. He put his free hand to Ringo's wet cheek. "Take yer time. I'm not going anywhere."

"You aren't?"

"Of course not. I'll be wherever _you_ are."

Ringo immediately sobbed harder. 

"Oh God. What _happened,_ Ritchie?" He wiped Ringo's face, but Ringo turned his face right up. 

"George, _I'm_ sorry. _I_ should be the one who's sorry."

George stopped in his tracks. "Wh— why?"

"I was a _terrible_ boyfriend to you."

"What? No you weren't. You were nothin but lovely to me—"

_"Before you were pregnant!"_

George nearly shat his ass. It seemed a whole lifetime ago, the both of them with proper bloke's bodies. And behaving like right ones too, drunken fights coming to the surface of his mind and shouting matches and bad late, late nights and— and— 

"I don't remember," he lied. 

"Yes ye do," said Ringo. "I just... I thought of it all day and— well, I can't stand it!" He clutched George's hands tighter as well. "I was so, so horrible to you."

Ringo, from a lifetime ago, did tend to get colourful with him after screwing up his playing and having too much. But so had George. There was one night where he clearly remembered stalking off to Paul and Jane's in pure blind rage. There was no fear in the morning when Jane's mum discovered him passed out on the lawn (pantsless) and Ringo had shown up barely an hour later looking frantically for him. Also pantsless. George shuddered at the memory, but it didn't make him shake.

"I don't get it," he told Ringo. "Why're you thinkin bout that? You've really changed for the better, don't you see?"

"That doesn't excuse me bein a fuckin _brute_ to you."

"You're not a brute!"

"I am, though. I got my boyfriend pregnant."

"That's.... probably not the reason why," George tried. "But I still don't get what you're sayin! What's this gotta do with anythin??"

"George, I love you because it's _you,"_ he said, voice clear and deep and everything George loved about him. "Not just because ye gave birth to our child."

George felt something growing in his chest. It most probably was a sign that he _REALLY_ needed to pump, but was it really? What he knew was that it _hurt_ to see Ringo cry. He brought his hands away from his hold to cup his face.

“I just wanted you to know,” Ringo said, looking down at their hands again. “I _needed_ you to know. Ye know that if it were legal I’d really marry you fer real, don’t you?”

“I’d marry you too!” he managed to whisper before he sniffled. “Over and over.”

“Big old sap,” Ringo laughed.

A comfortable silence washed over them. But it felt different this time. They had a wide expanse of warm love that had just gotten warmer. 

“You want some water?” George asked, running his thumbs under Ringo’s damp eyes. “I can get ye some.”

“Geo, no,” Ringo adjusted his straps back up. “You need sleep.”

“Ye came all this way.”

“To see _you,_ so please lemme hold you.”

“What’re you waitin for then?”

They held each other tightly, Ringo not even daring to close his eyes as he traced George’s face like it’d been ages since he’d last seen him. George leant in and kissed him softly, to which Ringo let out a sigh that warmed every bit of the cold night. They didn’t move for ages; there was no need to because their life was so _perfect_ right now. Nothing would go wrong. Nothing _could._ They would have him and Ringo to deal with. George kissed Ringo’s hair in pure joy as his arms wrapped themselves comfortably around the middle of his back. 

“You do look beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. “Is this new?”

“Not really, it was in the back.”

“It looks good on ye.”

They drifted off to sleep a while later, Ringo hurriedly switching the lights off to continue holding him in the dark. They woke up the next morning in a positive sea of milk, Ringo’s shirt soaked and his face re-wetted in white. And Baby staring at them both through the crib bars with his thumb in his mouth. 

_“Shit,”_ said George. 

“I’ll get the sheets,” Ringo yawned.

Despite the constant laundering of their sheets every few days, George and Ringo and Baby were now happily alone and unbothered. No one was coming to scrutinise the way they lived, and they really didn’t have any reason to pretend their child didn’t exist. George and Ringo had fussed putting on disguises before taking Baby for a stroll in a nearby park, so thankfully Baby mostly preferred playing with his toys indoors. And crawling. George had lost track of the times he’d woken up from a nap to find Baby scrambling over him, standing up shakily against the wall, or ‘walking’ with his feet on top of Ringo’s and his little hands held in Ringo’s above his head. And every day, he seemed to grow more and more adorable. And smarter. 

“Da.”

George damn near dropped the bowl of porridge. Ringo came running into the room and slammed into the table. 

“Baby???” George said, throwing the bowl out the window. “Was that you???????”

“Mmmh.”

“Baby, darling,” Ringo hopped towards his high chair excitedly. “Did you say ‘Da’?? Say it again! Say it again for Dada! Say ‘Dada’! _Dada!”_

George picked up his toga and ran into the room.

“Daaaa.”

“HE’S TALKIN GEORGIE, HE’S TALKIN!”

“That’s me boy!” George said, planting a kiss to Baby’s head and sending him squealing. “Can you say ‘Dada’? 'Da-Da'?"

"Duuh......."

George and Ringo were now on their toes around their son. 

"That's right Baby, almost there!" Ringo encouraged. 

"You can do it!!" said George. 

"Say 'Dada!'" said Ringo.

"..........................................................no," said Baby. 

_"What???????"_

George burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he clutched his stomach as he fell back into his own chair and as Ringo gaped at him and their son, who was now more interested in the animal pattern on his bib. Their life was going to be so wonderful. 

* * *

The issue of the upcoming tour and Ringo's renovations in Epping put them back on the daily grind, but only for so many hours. They made sure they were both there for Baby every night, tucking him into bed with a story. Cyn and Julian had also become regular presences in their flat, Julian eagerly sharing his train set and building blocks whenever he came over to play on the weekends. George and Ringo were overjoyed when Cyn offered to babysit when recording resumed, but surprisingly, it was _Eppy_ who had protested against this.

"Ye doubting my wife?" John said, offended on her behalf. "Ye think she can't handle another baby?"

"No John, I'm saying she's already got her hands full with Jules—"

"So you _are_ sayin that!"

"No, John, I'm saying that maybe we could have someone who's present in the _studio_ to take care of Baby."

John raised his eyebrow at him. 

"You mean... you?" Ringo asked. 

_"No,"_ Eppy sighed. "Mal's returning from vacation tomorrow."

No one raised any questions after that. Mal returned to the studio on recording day with a bag of toys, which made it much easier for him to win Baby over. He settled into his big arms while entranced by his new friends. Mal gave a thumbs up to them all before taking Baby to a break room. George and Ringo made sure to slip by during breaks, and would find Mal dandling soft toys on Baby’s legs or simply sitting with him in his lap, his little hands wrapped around his finger. He was also marvellously good at getting Baby to stand up by himself, often pretending to run off with the toy he wanted and prompting him to get up and chase him. 

Ringo worried if this was a good idea— Baby tumbled often, misjudging his little steps in contrast to Mal’s huge ones. But George was all for it, tag teaming Mal to toss him the wanted toy. Baby definitely went after him, babbling and squealing as he waddled after George. 

“Say ‘Dada’ if you want the sheep,” George tried. He then threw it to Mal. 

Baby turned his head to look at him. 

“‘Da-da,’” Mal mimed, but Baby only pointed at the stuffed lamb. 

_“Baaaa!”_

George sighed. 

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Mal laughed. He put the little lamb into Baby’s stretched out hands. “Give it time. How old’s he again?”

“Six months,” George said wistfully. Baby toddled off towards the ‘farm’ he had set up on the break room carpet and added the lamb to the pile. “Sometimes I feel like he’s growin up too fast.”

“Oh, I get you. My Gary’s reachin five and I’m real proud, but I’ve never wanted him to just be a little babe again any more in me life,” Mal patted him on the shoulder. “I’d say enjoy him while ye can. They’re only this little once.”

Baby was definitely slipping out of being ‘this little’ alright. He could recognise everyone at the studio. Julian had come over with Cyn one night and Baby lit up upon seeing him, yelling that “Juju” was here over and over. When it was time to go Baby hung onto his arm and screamed when George tried to pick him up. 

“It’s ok Baby, I’ll come play with you ta ‘morrow!” Julian said, but Baby clung to him even tighter. 

“Later?” 

“I’m fraid not Jules, he’s really tired,” George tried, only to have Baby burst into noisy tears when he was finally pulled free. _He_ was fuckin tired too! But how the hell would Baby ever understand if he told him that??

“Here, lemme take him,” Ringo offered when they were home at last. George simply handed him over and passed out right on their sofa. The cycle repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, fuck you, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated, and repeated until the end of February came. And Ringo pulled George into bed with a kiss. 

“Oh God, you make everything better,” he said, returning it. They kissed until Ringo pulled away to check the time on the clock. 

“What is it?”

“Two more minutes,” Ringo said enthusiastically. He reached over to under the bed.

George rolled his eyes. “It’s just me bein 23.”

“And it’s _just_ yer birthday then?” 

“Yayyyy,” George fake cheered, but lit up when Ringo came back up with a wrapped box in his hands. _“Oh.”_

“Surprise!” Ringo kissed his cheek. “Open it!”

George turned to check the clock. One more minute till his birthday. “What is it?”

“I ain’t spoiling my own gift to ye! Open it!!”

“It’s not time yet!”

The clock dinged for midnight. Ringo pursed his lips knowingly. George stuck his tongue at him as he undid the ribbon, opened the lid—

In it was a tiny golden leaf. George lifted it out of the box and a thin rope chain followed. In a good look at it, the gold in it’s green centre was shaped to an elaborately carved elephant, its trunk protruding from the leaf in a glistening miniature spout. 

“It’s meant to bring good luck,” Ringo explained. “I also asked a yogi to bless it, so it’s double good luck!”

George was lost for words. He held the charm by its chain as he studied more of its beauty. He must’ve been lost in it, with how Ringo nervously looked at him for the verdict. 

“Thank you, Ritchie.” he said. “It’s so thoughtful.”

Ringo broke into a wide smile. 

“Help me put it on?”

He obliged, hooping the knot of the rope over George’s head and bringing it to the nape of his neck. And when Ringo kissed him there, George truly felt at peace for the first time in what had been a long, long wait for it. 

Maybe there was some truth in how parenthood mellowed one out, yknow what I mean. George had been looking forward to spending his 23rd birthday in absolute solitude with his family. Ringo had bought some nice wine and a cake that they’d cut after they had dinner, but as they set to start making it, the doorbell suddenly rang. 

“Must be me flowers,” Ringo said when he got up to answer it, but he came back with more than just the flowers. For starters there were _4_ bouquets and not a single one was the one Ringo had ordered. 

And they came with John and Paul. And Brian. And Mal. With Jules. George bit his lips in order not to fucking _hiss_ at them all.

“Happy birthday Unca Georgie!” 

“Thanks Jules,” George said, instantly softening. He couldn’t be mad at _Julian._ He had even drawn George a crayon portrait of him playing the guitar in what looked to be an extra-flowy version of his toga. “Oh, this looks _just_ like me!”

“It you!” Julian confirmed. 

“He spent ages on the outfit,” John ruffled Julian’s hair as he passed over a bouquet of bright yellow roses. And on closer look, it turned out _all_ the boquets were yellow: Paul had brought yellow carnations, Brian with buttercups, and Mal with a wrap of sunflowers AND lilies. Ringo pretended to shield his eyes when he came out again with Baby in his arms.

“My wife said you couldn’t go wrong with lillies,” Mal said sheepishly. “But then I saw everyone else got somethin yellow…”

“It’s lovely, Mal, thank you,” George said, taking his bouquet too into his overfilled arms. Ringo sat Baby with Jules and ran over to help catch them all before they spilled. George gave him a look of thanks, and also a huff. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“We aren’t havin a party,” George hissed. “What’re are they all sittin there for??”

“I don’t know! You don’t want them here?”

George felt bad then, because that meant asking Jules and Mal to get and go too. He looked at their unopened wine and his uncut birthday cake on the kitchen table with a sigh.

Gradually he does lighten up. Eppy broke out his whiskey and toasted him, toasted to Baby, toasted to a year with just one more tour left, ever. So many toasts. Ringo and Mal were laughing up a storm. John lit a cig off of the candles and smoked it throughout the birthday song until Paul threw whiskey in his face. Many hugs goodbye. Baby being fussy. The door locking, Ringo's wet lips, the smack of the condom, the cold air that blew around their room and his own laugh as Ringo slid straps of his lingerie down teasingly slow—

George woke up with a huge headache and something stuck in his chest. After freeing his charm necklace from his cleavage he sunk back into bed with the covers pulled over his head. And then threw himself over seconds later to be sick. 

"Oh _Jesus,_ you too," said Ringo. He sat himself behind George and held his hair back as he vomited, rubbing circles into his back. And just as George was done Ringo dashed to the loo to heave up his own stomach. Baby sat up crying moments later, hungry and wet. Ringo went to pick him up, only to sick up just in front of his crib. 

They were both officially ill. George and Ringo sat miserably in bed with bins below them at all times, taking turns sipping from the bottle of ginger ale and spooning until one of them pooped explosively or threw up again. Baby realised something was wrong, because when he did sit with his parents he made sure to hold onto them tight. He drummed gently on each of their tummies until they picked him up. 

"Don’t ye just feel so much better," Ringo sighed happily. “Looks like he knows who to take after.”

George smacked his ass. But as much as he hoped for it, from the liquid diet and Baby’s soothing tummy drumming, he continued to feel like shit. Even more so next week when Ringo and him were still showing no signs of not waking up ill. Recording was a complete slog through the days, Ringo sweating seas and George seeming to be on the worst of it, sometimes sicking up right where he stood. And if it weren’t bad enough, the studio was now a constant hot spot for angry fans. John had had his Cleave interview a while ago, and had apparently said something or other about Jesus. George wasn’t sure about that, but what he WAS sure of was that it was why people were burning their records in Texas. And why it took him puking all over a reporter’s mic for Eppy to finally book them both a visit to the Hack. 

Mal drove them up in his car, fearful of what possibly awaited them on the street. It was really a load of bollocks, but George and Ringo definitely weren’t going to argue with Mal. 

“Eppy’s asked me to pick him up. Are you okay waiting till I get back?”

“Ok,” said Ringo. 

“I hope everything’s alright,” he tried to smile, and George tried smiling back, only to turn over and heave again on the curb. Even Becky the receptionist gave them a sympathetic look as she checked them in. 

“You’re welcome to wait. The Hack’s travelling from his part-time job,” she said. “I’m so sorry to hear ‘bout the mess in Texas.”

Ringo nodded politely before he headed to sit with George and Baby. The Hack appeared shortly after, bound in leather handcuffs. Becky stood up coolly and freed him from his shackles as he led them in excitedly. 

“Long time no see, Beatles! What’s happenin? Baby Beatle’s tummy's upset?”

“Oh, it’s, uh, us actually,” Ringo said as George threw up again. The Hack smartly stepped back as vomit covered his office floor, but nonetheless got out two cups and instructed them to piss in them. 

“Little one’s fine though?”

“Never better.”

“Well that’s a relief,” The Hack took out a notepad and a quill. “While Becky analyses the samples, I’ll ask ya both some questions to determine what’s wrong. Ok?”

George nodded weakly. But with Ringo rubbing more circles into his back, he felt like he could take on the world. 

“When did this start?”

“Uh… after my birthday,” George said. “25th, last month.”

“Were you both sick at the same time?”

“Yeah,” Ringo said. 

“Well you’ve waited kinda long, haven’t you?”

“We were busy.”

The Hack tutted. “I know all the burning and protests must be some real nasty business, but that’s no reason to neglect getting checked out—”

George felt another wave of nausea. He didn’t know that people were _protesting._

“Well Hack, I’d appreciate if you’d just check us out right now then,” Ringo sighed. “At least tell us what’s wrong.”

“Right, right. What did you eat that day, do you remember?”

“Um, birthday cake.”

“You’re sure?”

“We also had wine,” George added. “Whiskey, too, but surely that ain’t too much alarm?...”

“Hm. What kind of cake?”

“Does that matter?”

“It does if you’ve been puking for like a month.”

“I, uh, don’t remember,” George said. He turned to Ringo, who looked equally blank. He was just staring down at Baby’s peaceful, sleeping form. 

“Ooookay,” the Hack scribbled a few notes. He then disappeared into the back room for a moment, and the Harrison-Starkeys were left alone for a little while. George leant over to move a lock of Baby’s hair from his face, trying to take in at just how much he’d grown since they were last here. Everything would be alright as long as they were together.

It seemed like Ringo had read his mind. “Everything’s gonna be fine, right?”

“Of course,” George patted his hand. “And if not, it _will_ be.”

Ringo nuzzled into his shoulder when the Hack came back out in a flurry. 

“Lemme get something right... was _your_ birthday cake, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, congratulations!”

“It’s just 23, Hack,” George laughed. “Not much to celebrate.”

“Oh, that too,” the Hack nodded. “You’re a month in.”

“About, yeah.”

The Hack looked at him oddly, but then he laughed. So loud that he had to steady himself on the table.

“What?” said George. Ringo lifted his head slowly, eyebrows raised.

The Hack whirled around, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath in. 

“Mr Lead Guitar, I meant the _baby!”_


	6. alone at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for talk of abortion.

Everything. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Fucking.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Stopped.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The Hack farted. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_“What?”_ said George.

“Congrats!” The Hack blew into a party whistle. “You’re preggers! _Again!”_

George blinked. Then he immediately blacked out. He came to when a splash of cold water hit his face, and to Ringo, Baby, the Hack _and_ Mal standing over him. He immediately shut his eyes with a groan and fell back down on the exam table.

 _“George??”_ Ringo said worriedly, tugging at his arm. _“Can ye hear me???”_

“Ringo, no, give him some space!” said Mal. “You’re scaring the kid!”

 _“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?????”_ George repeated again, but this time he screeched it. His head hurt and spun even though he didn't move from where he lay. And it didn’t help that another wave of nausea was washing over his throat. Had he even been ill at all???

“Now don’t you worry Mr Harrison, I’ll have you taken care of the best I can,” the Hack interrupted. “Though I _am_ gonna have to charge ya double for food poisoning consultation along with the baby fee now….”

“I can’t be pregnant,” George shook his head. “I _can’t_ be, okay? We were safe.”

The Hack looked at Ringo. 

“We have a _tour_ coming up,” George added. 

The Hack just _shrugged._ George blinked rapidly to keep the droplets from going into his eyes. He stared at Baby, who stared back at him with worried eyes. His little mouth was moving as he reached his little hands out, as if he were going away from him.

“It’s okay,” he found himself cooing to his son. “Dada’s okay, don’t worry—”

Then the door slammed open. Eppy burst into the room along with John and Paul. 

“What,” snarled John. _“In the bloody hell is going on?”_

“Oh my _God!!!!!!”_ said the Hack. _“_ **_JOHN LENNON!!!!!!!!!!!!!”_ **

George turned to his side and puked his guts up. Next came the longest hour of his life. George felt he might as well be baring his body for the world with the amount of people staying in the Hack’s office to watch him receive a fucking food poisoning AND pregnancy diagnosis. The Hack did eventually send him off to put on a gown behind the curtain, but when he came back out, fucking _Becky_ had joined in. She leant on the wall shyly next to Paul, lips and face red with blush. 

“Get the camera!” the Hack was yelling. “We’ve got all 4 Beatles in this room!!!!!!”

“Yes yes, very nice,” Eppy said diplomatically. “But you do realise I can’t possibly let you take pictures with them _here,_ Robbie.”

“Of course not! The waiting room’s much nicer!”

Eppy laughed, but pinched the bridge of his nose the second the Hack turned to grab some film. John and Paul sat with Ringo on the sofa, pointedly not saying a single word. John smoked angrily while Paul sat stone-faced with a hand on his knee and the other on Ringo’s shoulder. Becky stood next to them all, nervously clicking a pen. Mal however stood near the door cradling Baby, unable to do anything in a property that wasn’t theirs. He gave George a sympathetic look that for once, did manage to actually comfort him. 

“Everyone. Ground rules,” Eppy said, clearing his throat. “Whatever’s said within these four walls stays within these four walls. Right?”

“Oath’s an oath,” the Hack said cheerily. 

“Especially about _Beatle Egg.”_

George nearly snorted. Was that what they were calling it?

“We swear it,” Becky confirmed.

“Good,” Eppy stood himself next to George and looked him up and down. George immediately covered his stomach, but Eppy simply dipped his head and sighedddddddddddd. 

“Oh God help us," he said. "What the fuck do we do now?”

Everything went silenter than silent. John even stopped smoking. Brian Epstein _never_ swore. 

“Eppy, _language,”_ Mal said, rocking Baby gently. 

“He’s going to learn it eventually,” Eppy shook his head so despondently George thought maybe he was crying. The Hack offered Eppy his hanky, which he took but held balled up in his fist. He looked at George again. “Isn’t that right?”

“What’re you saying?” George hugged himself tighter. “Are we cancelling the tour?”

John’s head poked up at that. Paul gulped so loud that Becky handed him some water. Ringo threw up again on his shoes.

“We’ve got Mal to take care of Baby, but what I'm worried about….” he gestured to George’s stomach, to which was denting under how hard his arms were crossed over it. “We’re set for Munich at the end of June, and you’re definitely not…. going to be the same.”

“I _know.”_

Eppy bit his lip.

“What?”

“Do you think you’d be alright with touring, George?”

 _Of course not, fuck no, call it off,_ he was more than prepared to scream. But something about the look on Eppy’s face haunted him.

“You can’t cancel it now, can ye?”

Eppy thought for a moment. “It would be difficult to.”

“But you can? You _could?”_ Ringo spoke at last. “Or maybe… I dunno, just hold it off long enough till until it gets born—”

 _“Or,”_ John drawled. “You could snuff the seed right now.”

George felt as if he’d been punched. Right in the baby. 

Everyone looked at John in horror. 

“Lenny, what the _fuck?”_ Paul scolded. “How can ye say that???”

“Hey, I’ve got a point!” John said, narrowly missing Paul’s face with the burning end of his cig. “Who knows how much danger he’ll be in if some fucks decide to fuckin chase or hit or like, _jump_ him to the ground! He’d _smash_ his fuckin egg! And I just don’t see how we can possibly go anywhere with all the shit happenin right now anyway!”

“Shit that _you_ started,” George hissed.

“Well you’re one to talk!” John retorted. “Why in God's name can’t you jus keep yer bloody legs shut?”

 _“Excuse me??”_ George yelled. “We were being perfectly safe!”

“Perfectly safe my _arse.”_

“John, _stop_ it!” cried Ringo. “It was _my_ fault, okay? Sometimes me rubbers just don’t last....”

John scoffed, ignoring him. He regarded George with a look he hadn’t gotten from him in a long, long lifetime ago. And that of all things is what it took for George to stride right up to him, drop where he’s scrunched his gown from his fists, and hurl his next wave of vomit upon John’s fucking head. 

* * *

It was a good thing that their manager and doctor were friends. George didn't argue when the Hack issued him and Ringo official letters stating for a week off work, and smiled at last when the smell caught up with John and he ended up puking all over Paul. Becky immediately rushed Mal and Baby outside, but what was there to hide anymore? 

The whole order of things would have to change again because of George's fucking tits. 

Eppy gives him the rest of today off right away. Ringo, too, with a wary look that both amused and petrified him. The drive back home was filled with nothing but Baby’s babbling and Ringo tapping his knuckles against the wheel. 

Ringo doesn’t speak till they’ve reached Whaddon House. 

“.......Georgie?”

George looked at him, mouth pursed. 

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I should’ve checked,” Ringo said, his voice quivering. “I thought _something_ felt off when I woke up that day, but when we got sick I just thought it was me and not at all bout where the rubber ended up and….. oh _Jesus,_ I’m such a git—”

“Ritchie, what on earth are ye talkin about?” 

“It’s my fault you’re like _this_ again!” Ringo eyes were now teary. “How’re you not mad at me?? Just yell at me already! You shouldn’t have to fucking live like this!”

“Live like _what?”_ George said, now truly surprised. His mind ran a marathon. “A dad?? A _parent_ to our children???”

“N-no, the fact that… the fact that you’re the one who has to—” 

“What,” George snapped. “The one who has to be fuckin _pregnant?”_

Ringo recoiled immediately. George couldn’t tell if it were out of guilt or if his scary face had re-emerged. And for once, he didn’t care which. 

“Say it then,” he said quietly. “You don’t like yer husband gettin pregnant?”

“George, I—”

“Are ye that ashamed of me? Of _us?”_ he held Baby closer just to feel more control in his now shaky hands. “What the _hell_ d’you mean, ye don’t want us to live like this?”

“I love you all more than I love my life!” Ringo said with a cry. “I just don’t want you to have to go through somethin you _shouldn’t!”_

“We wouldn’t _have_ Baby if I didn’t, would we?”

“I know! But—”

George wasn’t sure if it was the bloody rage he felt at Ringo right then, or the fact that he now knew that there was another human being sitting right on his bladder and eating all of his hormones. He got out of the car and slammed the door, walking briskly to their flat. Baby stared up at him as he bit his lips and blinked away his tears. Baby continued to do so when George returned from the loo, sitting up on his bed and babbing a stream of “Ba-buhhhh” with his little hands raised so he could be picked up. 

And for once George couldn’t feel the strength in his arms anymore. He couldn’t feel strength in him _anywhere._ He turned around and laid himself on the cold bathroom floor so Baby couldn’t see him cry. 

What had happened to him? He wouldn’t give up this life for anything, but Ringo had been _right._ Being pregnant that first time had taken everything out of him. And what would become of the fucking tour? Of the _Beatles?_ He hated both with a passion sometimes, but he couldn’t leave without dragging John and Paul and Ringo with him somehow. He couldn’t make Eppy retract all his statements. He couldn’t ask Mal to be Baby’s sitter while they performed overseas. And he damn well couldn’t stop the fans who were now calling their studio and threatening them with death.

 _“Or,”_ John had drawled. _“You could snuff the seed right now.”_

He clutched his still-flat belly with a flare of fierce protection. Most of all he couldn’t stop his body from changing again. George’s shoulders throbbed from where they shook against the hard tiles of the floor. 

“Dada?”

George gasped. When he looked up, Baby was standing shakily near his head. 

“How did you get here?” George pushed himself up at last to hold him, checking his head for signs that he’d fallen off the bed. But Baby beat him to it, smiling and cupping his tiny starfish hands to his wet face. 

George fought not to let out another sob. He wrapped his arms around Baby and held him to his chest, finally letting it all out into Baby’s hair. While Baby squealed a finally continuous flow of “dadadadadadada” George felt a million times lighter. 

“I love you so so much, you know?” He whispered, kissing Baby’s head. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Buh-muhhh.” 

“I’m so grateful that you were born…” 

“Daaaaaaa.”

“You’ll remember me, won’t you?” George found himself saying. “Even when you’re an old, old man and I’m not here anymore?”

Baby blinked like he had understood. 

“Daaa?”

“It’s alright,” George chuckled lightly. He pressed a long kiss to Baby’s forehead and savoured the sound of his little laugh. He cradled him as they lay on the floor together, his hand cradling his head and Baby's starfish hands still plastered to his cheeks. Everything else could be shut out. There was no tour, no Beatles, just the ~~two~~ THREE of them in the world, happy together and alone at last.

"...............................Georgie?"

George opened his eyes. Ringo was kneeling over him at the door, his hands smoothing his fringe out of the way. Baby was soundly asleep, his head burrowed in his chest. The world outside was dark except for the light in the room. 

"Whuh?" George said, attempting to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"I just got here," Ringo gently propped him up against the loo. "You're really tired."

"Yeah, no shit..."

"I'm so sorry, luvie." Ringo said, catching onto George's falling hand. "I didn't mean that I didn't love you not being here or being a dad. I just don't want you have to _suffer."_

George looked up at him. For what must've been at most five minutes, Ringo looked horrible. His eyes and nose were runny and his breath smelt like vomit. God, he was sick too wasn't he? And he'd left his poor husband alone in the car.

He felt his own eyes growing wet with tears. 

"C'mere."

"What?"

"Just c'mere," he slipped his hand out of Ringo's and wrapped it around his head, bringing him close. George kissed Ringo softly on the corner of his lips, bracing himself for the inevitable stench and the next wave of his own nausea. But when Ringo kissed him back, even more softly, all he really felt was warmth. And there was no way _that_ could ever die. Ever. 

E v e r. 

What, don't you trust me?

Ringo didn't seem sick in the least when he helps George up and tucks Baby carefully into his crib. He stands over the bathtub for ages getting the water temperature right, lighting the jasmine incense and infusing the bath with something that smelt like heaven. George started laughing when Ringo fetched John's roses and scattered some of the petals in the water. 

"No roses?"

"Oh, no, that's fine," George rubbed his sore shoulders. "Did ya know that yellow roses mean friendship?"

"Well that's good, cause these came from Lenny, remember?" Ringo chuckled. 

George raised his eyebrow.

"Cause that means I can have ye all to myself."

George sighed contentedly. He stuck his hand in the water and stripped off. Ringo then picked up his lighter and made to leave. 

"Ritchie, where're you goin?"

Ringo blinked. "It's yer bath time."

"Can't ye stay?" George drew his knees to his chest and tried not to wince when they brushed against his forgotten tender boobs. "You need one too."

"I don't wanna intrude, luvie."

"And I don't wanna be alone right now."

Ringo softened. He stripped off his clothes and got in the tub as well, splashing his face quickly. When he was done he opened his arms and George glided smoothly into his chest, and they sat alone together in the tub, wrapped in nothing but water and their love. Ringo bent to kiss the flat of George's stomach even after they got out, never leaving his side through the week.

And just as well, because the news in the week weren't kind; radios in the Bible Belt were now refusing to play their songs, and even Eppy was facing some of the music. Once again his tires were slashed. John went to pick him up in his car and someone had written GOD IS WATCHING across his windshield in shit. Paul volunteered his own car and all was well, but when they got to the studio, it was clear that something had to be done. 

"I can't believe they'd go this far! Fucking _hooligans!"_ Mal said, clearing away teacups. "Have you called her?"

"Yeah," John said, head on the table. "Cyn said she's alright, and she'll stay home with Jules today..."

"Oh, thank God."

"Don't say that Mal, hasn't he already done enough?"

George and Ringo were similarly worried. They'd gotten a look at the ransom note, too, before Eppy had handed it to the police. John phoned home every hour to make sure his wife and son were still there, and when the inspector declared that it was cleared, John took the fuck off with Mal on his heels. Paul excused himself shortly after, a whole group of lady officers offering to walk him to his car. And Eppy was left with George and Ringo and Baby, swaddled in a sling around Ringo. And with how big he was growing, it was no easy task. 

"Now obviously, this is bad." Eppy said over his 24th cup of instant coffee. "Have you both reached a decision?"

"Have you?" George asked. "I didn't hear bout anything."

"I've failed you both," Eppy said, and hung his head low. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't get the tour cancelled."

A long silence fell. George reached across the table and patted Eppy's hand. Ringo did too, having to manoeuvre Baby around his chest before he moved.

"You did your best, Eppy," Ringo smiled, but it was weak and tired. Eppy slammed the table as such.

"But that's not what's important! What about you?" 

George flinched. "What about—?"

"George, I hate to ask, I shouldn't even assume," he said. "But I'll need to be present when you go to the Hack now."

"Why?"

"He's coming along."

"....what about his part-time job?" asked Ringo.

"I'm paying him well enough now," Eppy nodded. "But unless..."

"Unless what?" 

"Please don't hate me for this," Eppy wiped his brow. "George, are you _keeping_ Beatle Egg?"

George felt a tense pain in his chest then.

"What the fuck, Eppy?" Ringo whispered, his gaze darting quick from Eppy to George and George to Eppy. "Surely you're not— not if the Hack's already coming on tour??"

"I had to offer him a pre-paid contract per his own firm's wishes, but I need to let you know that it's up to _you,_ George," he said. "If you decide not to carry Beatle Egg on tour, I'll inform the Hack and have him abort the foetus as soon as possible—"

"No." George said. "I'm keeping it."

The silence that oddly followed was even more long.

"You're sure?" Eppy asked, but in his familial, fatherly way that reminded George so painfully of having to tell his own dad. And Harry. And newly on the scene, Ringo, who looked at him with sad eyes. But he too, untangled one hand from Baby and let it fall into his on the table.

"I'm sure." 


	7. dada and doodoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for mentions of abortion, old man creepiness and in my own damn opinion some damn good fluff

As happy as Ringo was that they were for sure having another child, he was still unbearably nervous about the whole thing. They had no privacy on tour, there was a half chance too great that their security couldn’t protect them always, and most of all he worried about what people were going to say when George wouldn’t be able to hide his changed— I mean,  _ changing _ body from them again. 

Would it be too much of a giveaway if George were to stand behind the three of them at all times? What about when they performed? Surely it wasn’t too much to ask John and Paul to stand next to each other and  _ unfairly  _ attract all the attention, but for once John and Paul were  _ not _ having it.

NOT. 

And it was all because of the  _ Evening _ fucking  _ Standard. _

John entered the studio the next day smoking a cigarette as if nothing had happened yesterday; as if his car wasn’t being specially cleaned and his wife and child weren’t practically on lockdown. Paul entered nearly an hour later, late as hell, with a very odd bruise on his neck. 

“Jane’s up to her old tricks,” George had smirked. Paul laughed uneasily back as he picked up his bass and went to sit by Mal, who passed him a cup of tea. Baby squealed in the sling slung around him, resting right under his chin because of his height. He stuck his finger in and Baby squealed louder. 

John let out a very audible sigh from the end of the room.

“How’s Baby doin?” Paul asked, peering into the sling. 

“A right angel. Good mood,” Mal crossed his eyes and a peal of laughter sounded out. Ringo smiled, and from beside him George snickered as he tuned his guitar. “And he’s gettin chunky!”

“He’s moved onto solid food now,” Ringo added. 

“Awww!” Paul cooed. “Gettin big now, are ye? Just like—”

The studio door swung open. 

“Hi Eppy,” George said, but instead of him a man with a very familiar hat walked in. And on the sight of that hat, George went as pale as a sheet. Ringo hurriedly stripped off his clothes and threw them all on top of George. 

“Hello, all,” the man said coldly. 

“Mr Willy Ward,” John nodded gravely, but not unpolitely. “Hello.”

“That’s  _ William  _ to you, boy,” he corrected, staring John down. And startingly, John. Backed. Down. Paul and Mal looked on, uncomfortable smiles across their faces. Paul positioned himself immediately in front of Mal and Baby, but Ward then turned on to  _ George. _

“The elusive George Harrison,” he remarked. 

_ “What,” _ George said, arms crossed tight under Ringo’s shirt and coat. “I mean, whatsamatter, Mr Ward?”

Ward put his face right in George’s as he looked him up and down. And then at Ringo’s shirtlessness. 

“Hmm. You seem…. overdressed.”

“I’m cold.”

“And you, Ringo Starr—”

“I’m too hot,” Ringo said immediately, willing himself not to tremble from the chill that now surrounded him. But oddly, he had a feeling it was just fucking  _ Ward.  _

“Ahem,” John cleared his throat. “Very nice to see you Mister, but what  _ is _ the matter? We’ve gots music to record. And where’s Eppy?”

Ward looked at John as if he were an alien, but finally looked away from him and George at last. He walked silent and deadly over to John before he spoke:

“Mr Epstein’s a bit held up.”

Ringo gulped. So did John. They’d watched enough movies to figure out what that meant. 

“What did you do to him?” John demanded. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, Lennon.” Ward said, inching closer and closer to John’s face. “Mr Epstein’s whereabouts are not of concern right now.”

“It’s of concern to  _ us.” _

“And I believe your  _ image _ was, too,” he said, knowingly, as John immediately drew away. “Your statement for our dear Miss Cleave has caused… quite the spectacle.”

The room grew dark. 

“You think I don’t know that?? My family was fucking _ threatened!  _ They wanted to kidnap me wife and son!”

“Typical,” Ward scoffed. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

John’s chair fell to the floor with a slam. Paul rushed and caught his fists before he could raise them, wrestling him down as shouts of  _ stop fucking stop he’s not worth it!  _ and  _ WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY  _ ran through the room. Ringo shrank back in terror as George dropped the clothes around him and ran to help Paul, finally holding an enraged John inches from Ward. Mal carefully placed Baby on the table as he strode up to him. 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, do you work here?” Ward said, undeterred. “Who are you? Can’t you see I’m conducting business with your bosses?”

“Who the fuck are  _ you???”  _ John yelled. “You think you can come in here and tell me shit bout my mum?? That my family deserve to be in  _ danger _ because of what  _ I _ did????”

Baby then started bawling, terrified of the noise. Ringo raced towards him with his arms outstretched, but Ward was there first, picking him out of his sling and hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“There, now, hush.” Ward ran his creepy hand over where Baby’s bottom was, and he only shrieked louder. “Hush now little un, the adults are talking—”

_ “Let go of him!”  _ George screeched.  _ “You fucking  _ cunt!”

Ward looked stunned. George’s coat had fallen open, and—

“Alright, that’s enough!” Mal yelled, stepping between George and Ward and forcing Ward to stumble back into Ringo. He pulled Baby quickly out of his slimy grasp, where he buried his little head into Ringo’s neck and clung to his skin.

“How dare you!” George was still screeching. John and Paul were now the ones screaming as they tried to hold  _ him _ AND his coat back.  _ “How fucking dare you lay your hands on him????” _

Ward looked at him with his eyebrows raised. 

“Didn’t  _ your _ mother teach you manners?” Paul said angrily. “Mal, make him leave!”

“Did  _ yours  _ teach you to leave the dirty work to the help?”

_ “Get the fuck out!” _ John bellowed. Then Mal moved forwards in one big sweep, and hefted Ward’s thin frame out the studio door and they disappeared down the hall. When the door swung back with a  _ thump _ Baby stopped crying at last, sniffling as Ringo ran his hand through his hair. 

John and Paul dropped their hold on George.

“Baby???” George rushed over to Ringo to check on their child. “It’s okay now, yeah? The bad man’s gone—”

John straightened up his fallen chair and kicked it down again. 

“....fuck,” said Paul. 

“........language,” Ringo whispered as if fuck hadn’t been said like 11 fuckin times. 12.

John laughed hatefully from where he lit another cig. Ringo opened his mouth to chastise him, but:

“Great goin, fellas. Real great.”

“W-What?” Paul looked up at him. “What d’you mean?”

“How much d’you reckon he saw.”

“Of what?” George asked. 

Ringo gulped a long hard breath down as John, smirking again, held his two hands out in front of him and opened them—

“Mal got there first,” George immediately drew his coat around him tighter, but now the room was blushing bright red. “He can’t  _ possibly _ have noticed—”

“I didn’t see anythin,” Paul agreed, looking at the wall. 

“See?” George laughed, but it was so obviously forced that Ringo felt like he wanted to just fuckin  _ run _ for it. “And I’m already layered to the nines! It’s his word against ours and we’re all good, aren’t we?”

No one answered him. He turned to Ringo desperately. 

“Aren’t we?”

Ringo didn’t hear. His mind had gone dark places. And because I’m a terrible fuckin-ass wuss, I’ll just leave that up to you. Ward’s evil face hung in the sky over them all while people from all walks of life stormed towards them with torches. And— and— oh god—

_ “Ritchie?” _ George grabbed at his hand. “Darling, everything’s alright, ain’t it?”

“Oh that depends,” John drawled, puffing big time on his cig. “Did you kill it?”

The mood in the room was suddenly ablaze. George gasped. Ringo blinked. Paul turned to John with a disgusted look on his face. 

“What the fuck, John???” Paul seethed. “That’s none of your business!”

“Well he’s our lead guitar, so it  _ is _ me business.” John snickered. “He’s  _ your  _ business too, Macca, what of it?”

“Don’t fucking make this bout _ you, _ John! You can’t just tell him to fucking  _ abort _ his child!”

The a-word struck like a bolt. Ringo choked. George clutched his stomach, now hidden by layers and layers of clothes that were supposed to protect it, and screwed his face into a scowl. 

“Hey, I  _ ain’t _ sayin I don’t want another Harrison-Starkey!” John protested, spitting his cigarette out at last. “I’m just saying if George knows what’s best for him, he’ll put him  _ and _ the poor kid outta their miseries—”

“What’s best for me???” George cut in. “You don’t fuckin care what’s best for me! You just wanna show yer dick to the world and me kid’s  _ fuckin  _ **_cockblocking!”_ **

John fought a laugh. His eyes darted downwards.

“STOP STARING AT ME TITS.”

“Jesus Geo, no one wants to look at yer tits.”

“THEN STOP FUCKIN STARING AT THEM!” Ringo yelled. 

“Oh,  _ now _ he talks,” John snorted even more hatefully. He stared at Ringo with an expectant look, like he wanted him to…..

“W— what?”

“Ritchie, I love you, I really do,” John smiled at him. “Even if ya  _ do _ have a major pregnancy kink.”

Ringo had absolutely no idea what the fuck that meant. But then Paul stood up so quick  _ his _ chair crashed to the floor. 

“Macca?—”

“That’s  _ enough!” _ Paul shouted, scaring Baby further into Ringo’s chest. “Are ya done????”

“With what?”

“Oh, I dunno, rippin on Ritchie maybe?” George cocked his head. “Maybe  _ I  _ wanted it. Maybe we’re just  _ acceptin _ what we fucking did!”

“You wanted to get knocked up months before our final tour???” John laughed, doubling up from it. “Ye  _ really _ don’t wanna be a Beatle anymore, do ye.”

“George, no,” Ringo said. But it fell on deaf ears. 

“That’s right, John!” George said in a mockingly triumphant tone. “I’m a  _ bloke _ who set out to get pregnant.”

John shut up for twenty whole seconds, shocked at last. But then retorted with: “At least not when ye had this one!” He pointed his newly lit cig to Baby, and then at George’s belly. “Now look at what you’ve done!”

“Will you can it already?!” Ringo stepped in, on the verge of tears. “Why is nobody blaming  _ me????? _ I’m the one who _ put _ that in him! It’s probably _ my _ fault the rubber ended up lost or broken or—”

“It’s not yer fault, Ritchie,” George sighed.

“It is _ so! _ I should’ve fucking looked out for you! Taken… taken better care of—”

“Darling, I really don’t blame you,” George smiled at him and put his hand up against Ringo’s flushed cheek. “I wanted to quit anyway.”

Everyone. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Stopped. Again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Cha cha boom boom. 

“You— _ you—”  _ Paul started shaking like a fish on sand. “You—you  _ can’t!” _

“Yes I can,” George said so calmly Ringo felt like screaming and running from the room. “I’m in absolutely no condition to perform on a world tour.”

“See, he gets it,” John took another puff of his cig, but then he coughed. 

“What the  _ fuck??” _ Paul seethed. “How can ye fucking _ say _ that? He’s our  _ friend! JOHN!” _

Ringo felt ill. Baby whimpered against him, but he didn’t know what the fuck he should do. John and Paul’s screeches and shrieks turned louder and shoutier and George stood turned away from them all with his arms crossed over the thing he wanted to take the blame for so  _ badly— _

“The hell’s going on???” Mal said, his head barely poking through the doorway. Everyone shut their mouths.

“Nothin, I’m just leaving,” George said, hitching up his bag. 

_ “HAZZA!” _ John and Paul shouted.

“Oh, uh, would you like me to drive you there?”

“You’re too kind, Mal!”

Mal looked at them all for one more moment before leading George out and shutting the door again. Ringo was so stunned that all he could do was hold onto Baby like a lifeline. 

“Dada?” Baby asked. 

Ringo looked down. 

“Dada buh-guh?”

“Dada’s… _ I’m _ here,” Ringo tried. “Don’t worry, he didn’t mean that—”

“The fuck you mean he didn’t???” John shrieked so loudly that the cigarette in his mouth exploded boom boom. “George jus fucking  _ walked out _ on us!”

“Well maybe _ you  _ shouldn’t have riled him up!” Ringo yelled back at last. “You got yer wish anyway, haven’t ye?? He’s  _ gone!” _

“Oh my god, I  _ can’t. _ ” Paul darted between them both making a dash for the door, slamming it before vanishing down the way Mal and George had left. Ringo and Baby were now alone with John. Ringo took in a deep breath and brought himself a tighter hold on Baby. 

John sighed. “I never wanted— I didn’t  _ mean  _ for him ta leave.”

“Oh, really?” Ringo meant to be sarcastic, but he just sounded more concerned than ever. “Then what  _ did _ you want?”

“I jus— I didn’t want him ta……... ughhhhhHHHHh.” John ran his hand through his fucked up hair. Ringo then realised how bloody greasy it looked. 

“Jesus John, when did ye last shower?”

“That’s none of yer business,” he retorted in a half-hearted impression of Paul’s scolding. He sunk back into the sole un-upturned chair in the studio and leaned back as he smoked. “Not. At. All.”

“John, are you okay?”

John didn’t answer. He sighed again and turned his face to the wall. And when his smoked-out cigarette continued smoking out in his mouth, Ringo wrapped his hand to the back of Baby’s head and carried him out, making sure not to slam the door.

Mal was watching telly on their sofa when Ringo and Baby returned to the flat. 

“George asked me to stay till ya came back,” he explained. 

“Thanks man,” Ringo clapped his shoulder. “You want tea?”

Mal accepted a cup before he went on his own way home. Baby got awfully fussy when Ringo left to do the washing up, whining as he scrambled off the sofa and crawling up to Ringo. He hugged Ringo’s leg at the sink, rubbing snot all over his trousers. 

“Dadaaaaaa,” he said, tugging. 

“I spent the whole  _ day _ holdin you!” Ringo teased, but when he rinsed off and scooped Baby up into his arms, he had never felt so proud. Baby giggled against his skin contentedly as Ringo kissed the top of his head. He really was that fucking cute. He’d never felt better, even when he braced himself before going into their bedroom. 

George was lying on his side in their bed, covers pulled up to his nose. He peered up when he heard the door open, and smiled. Baby grabbed at Ringo’s hands, so he sat him in his lap instead of the crib as they sat on the bed. 

“Hey,” George said, more of a whisper. “Mal still here?”

The rims of George’s eyes were red. Ringo fought not to cry too as he shook his head and laid himself down with Baby and then hugged them both, cupping George’s face in his hand. George shut his eyes with a contented sigh, and somehow that’s the thing that brings Ringo’s own tears at last.

“It’s okay Ritchie, it’s okay...” George said, and rubbed his thumbs at Ringo’s eyes. Normally this worked, but when the hell had things ever been normal for them today?

“Don’t leave me,” Ringo choked out. _ “Please.  _ I love you!” 

The rubbing stopped. Ringo opened his eyes. 

“God, Ritchie,” George gripped Ringo’s shoulders to show that he was serious. “The hell d’you think of me?”

“I think you’re the best of course,” Ringo exhaled desperate breaths. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else.”

“And I love you more than  _ life _ itself.” George grinned, but Ringo didn’t miss the drops that spilled from his eyes again. “You think I’d leave you? And Baby?”

“I— n-no—“

George then kissed his forehead. Ringo turned into a sobbing mess, but Baby babbled happily as he reached for George’s nose. George stuck out one hand and let Baby grab onto his finger, holding on tight. They nestled together for a long, quiet time, the only sounds from content sighing and Baby's happy squealing when tickles landed on his face.

But when day turned into night Ringo couldn't keep it in. 

"George?"

George opened his eyes. Ringo then swallowed the lump in his throat. "Did ya really mean when you'd leave?"

".......Ritchie, I'm not leaving you..."

"Not me. The band."

George looked away. 

"You, uh, don't have ta tell me right now, I'm jus—"

"Did John say anythin after I left?"

Ringo thought. Somehow, now, John's words seemed like words he'd say and yet he didn't exactly think of them as lies. 

"He said... like, he didn't mean for ya to leave."

"Sounds an awful lot like it when he told me to kill our child."

"I  _ know. _ He don't even sound like him no more....."

George sighed again, but this time it was longer. His hand came between them to rub his own belly. Baby made a gurgling noise as he tried to grab at George's hand. 

"See this?" George said, switching to his For Baby voice. "You're getting a little present. You're gonna have someone to play with."

"Nahhhh!" said Baby. 

"No?" George chuckled. "Don't worry Baby, they're gonna love you too."

Then Baby laughed, and for a moment everything was really bloody alright. Ringo bundled both his special boys into his arms once again and vowed he wouldn't ever let go. But still his arms had to grow sore and Baby would tug George enthusiastically by his necklace. 

"Okay, okay," Ringo said as George gently prised Baby's little hands off his leaf. "Bath time."

"No!" said Baby. 

"Yes," said George.

"No!!" said Baby. 

"If you do it I'll give you yer own ring," said Ringo. 

"Yeeeeeeee," Baby turned himself and buried his nose into Ringo's chest. 

George frowned before it turned into a pout and then a relaxed smile as Ringo ran the bath, creating a steamy bath that made Baby squeal with delight when George lowered him in with him, clutched tightly to his chest. He giggled when Ringo flicked water at him to wet his skin, and burrowed his head into George's bosom when he ran a soapy hand into his hair. And on seeing this, all Ringo could think about was lucky he had gotten in life. He mixed the water in the tub around slowly, occasionally brushing past George's knee. 

"You're not gettin in?" George grinned. 

"Someone gotta make sure ye don't sleep and slip under," Ringo joked. He looked to where they'd placed the rest of John's roses in a vase near their sink. “And you just wanna see  _ me _ boobs, don't ye."

George splashed him for his cheek. Baby let out a loud screech of joy. Ringo simply picked a rose from the vase and siddled up at the tub. 

"Is it so wrong to admit that I miss ye?" said George.

"Not at all, luvie," Ringo knelt and began to plait the rose into George's hair. "I miss you too." He bent and kissed him sweetly on the shoulder, getting a little laugh out of him.

"But I'm right here."

"And I'm right here too."

"Oh,  _ that _ I know," George winced as Ringo pulled a lock of his hair too suddenly. "Slow down a little, won't ye?"

Ringo chewed his lip in concentration as he wound George's hair with the stem, gingerly plucking the little thorns out as he went. When he was done George handed Baby over and then climbed out himself. Baby started to whine as he was lifted out of the warm water and swaddled into the towel, but calmed when Ringo delivered a big kiss to his forehead. He kicked his little legs up in joy and reached out his little arms when Ringo unwrapped him. The phone outside then started to ring, so George left to pick it up while Ringo dried Baby’s hair. 

“Is it jus me or are ya jus growin so big everyday?” Ringo cooed. “You’re gonna tower over me in no time!”

“Hahhh!” said Baby. 

“Not nice to laugh at Dada!” Ringo faked being angry. 

_“Ha_ hahaha!”

Ringo looked towards the door. He could hear George picking up the phone with a clack. 

“Hmmm,” he said. “I guess we can’t both be Dada…”

“No,” Baby replied. 

“Alright....” Ringo thought. “Maybe Dada can stay Dada, but I can…. uh......ooh, can you say ‘Papa’?”

Baby blinked his blue eyes. 

“‘Papa’,” Ringo tried.

“........Doodoo.”

Ringo stifled a laugh. “No, ‘Pa-pa’.” 

“Dada.”

“Dada’s busy, my Baby.”

_ “Doodoo!” _

“Well ok then,” said Ringo. “I love you too.”

Baby giggled with utter delight. He raised his hands higher to let Ringo pick him up at last, 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


and then George burst into the bathroom. His eyes were wide.

“Hey, guess what.” Ringo chuckled. “From now on we’re gonna be Dada and Doo—”

“We need to go!” George said hurriedly, dropping his towel and rushing to get dressed. “We need to get to the hospital  _ right now.” _

“What?” Ringo clutched Baby tighter. “What’s wrong? Are you okay??” 

“It’s not me,” George slammed the closet door. “Paul just got carjacked.”


End file.
